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By GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO 
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Translated by 

ARTHUR SYMONS 



NEW YORK: R. H. RUSSELL 
MCMIJ 



PESO'S 



i 03 



Printed in Great Britain 



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FOR 
ELEONORA DUSE 

OF THE BEAUTIFUL HANDS 



Cosa bella mortal passu, e non d'arte 

Leonardo da Vinci 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 

Lucio Settala 
Lorenzo Gaddi 
Cosimo Dalbo 
Silvia Settala 
Francesca Doni 

GlOCONDA DlANTI 

Little Beata 
La Siren etta 



At Florence, and on the coast of Pisa, 
at the present time 



GIOCONDA 



THE FIRST ACT 

A quiet, foursquare room, in which the arrangement of 
everything indicates a search after a singular 
harmony, revealing the secret of a profound corre- 
spondence betiveen the visible lines and the quality 
of che inhabiting mind that has chosen and loved 
them. All around seems to have been set in order 
by the hands of one of the thoughtful Graces. The 
aspect of the place evokes the image of a gentle and 
secluded life. 

Two large ivindoivs are open on the garden beneath ; 
through one of them can be seen, rising against the 
placid fields of the sky, the little hill of San 
Miniato, and its bright Basilica, and the convent, 
and the church oftheCronaca, "la Bella Villanella" 
the purest vessel Franciscan simplicity. 

A 



2 GIOCONDA , 

There is a door opening into an inner room, another 
leading out. It is the afternoon. Through both 
windoivs enter the light, breath, and melody of 
April. 

SCENE I. 

Silvia Settala and the old man Lorenzo Gaddi are 
seen on the threshold of the first door, side by sidg, 
as they both come into the fresh spring atmos- 
phere. 

Silvia Settala. 

Ah, blessed be life ! Because I have always kept 
one hope alight, to-day I can bless life. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

New life, dear Silvia, good brave soul, so good and 
so strong ! The storm is over. Lucio has come back 
to you, full of gratitude and of tenderness, after all 
the evil It is as if he were born again. Just now 
he had the eyes of a child. 






Silvia Settala. 
All his goodness comes back to him when you are 
with him. When he calls you Maestro his voice 
becomes so affectionate that it must make your heart 
beat, the father's heart that you have for him. 



GIOCONDA 3 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Just now he had the same eyes that I saw in him 
when he came to me for the first time and I put the 
clay into his hands. His eyes were gentle and 
wondering ; but from that moment his thumb was 
full of energy, a revealing thing. I have kept his 
first sketch. I thought of giving it to you on the 
day of your betrothal. I will give it to you in token 
of your new happiness. 

Silvia Settala. 
Thanks, Maestro. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

It is the head of a woman crowned with laurels. I 
remember there was rather a bad model there. As 
he worked, he hardly looked at her. Sometimes he 
seemed absorbed, sometimes anxious. There came 
out of his hands a sort of confused mask, through 
which one half saw I know not what heroic linea- 
ments. For some moments he remained perplexed 
and discouraged, almost ashamed, at the sight of his 
work, not daring to turn to me. But suddenly, 
before letting it out of his hands, with a few touches 
he set a crown of laurel about the head. How it 
delighted me ! He wanted to crown in the clay his 



4 G10C0NDA 

own unaccomplished dream. The end of his day's 
work was an act of pride and of faith. I loved him 
from that instant, for that crown. I will give you 
the sketch. Perhaps, if you look at it closely, you 
will discover the ardent face of Sappho, that ideal 
figure which, only a few years later, he w T as able to 
bring to perfection, in a masterpiece. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Listening eagerly?^ Sit down, sit down, Maestro ; 
stay a little longer, I beg of you. Sit here, by the 
window. Stay a few minutes longer. I have a 
thousand things to tell you, and I do not know how 
to tell you one of them. If I could overcome this 
continual tremor ! I want you to understand. . . . 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Is it joy that makes you tremble ? 

\He sits down near the window. Silvia, leaning 
back against the ivindoiv-sill, remains with 
her face turned towards him ; her face is seen 
against the blue air, the little hill standing out 
in the background. 

Silvia Settala 
I do not know if it is joy. Sometimes everything 
that has been, all the evil, all the sorrow, and even 



GIOCONDA 5 

the blood, and the wound, all melts away, vanishes, is 
wiped out into oblivion, is there no more. Some- 
times everything that has been, all that horrible 
weight of memory, thickens and thickens, and grows 
compact and opaque and hard as a wall, like a rock 
that I shall never be able to surmount. Just now, 
when you spoke to me, when you offered me that 
unexpected gift, I thought : " Ah, now I shall take 
that gift in my hands, that morsel of clay into which 
he cast the first seed of his dreams, as into a fruitful 
soil ; I shall take it in my hands, I shall go to him 
smiling, bearing intact the better part of his soul and 
of his life ; and I shall not speak, and he will see in 
me the guardian of all his goods, and he will never go 
away from me any more, and we shall be young 
again, we shall be young again ! " I thought that, 
and the thought and the act were mingled in one, 
with an incredible ease. Your words transfigured the 
world. Then, do you know, a breath passed, a vapour, 
the merest breathing, a mere nothing, and cast down 
everything, and destroyed everything, and the 
anxiety came back, and the dread, and the tremor. 
O April ! 

[•Suddenly she turns to the light, drawing a dee}) 
breath. 
How this air troubles one, and yet how pure it is ! 



6 CIOCONDA 

All one's hope and despair pass in the wind with the 
dust of flowers. [She leans out, calling.] Beata ! 
Beata ! 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Is the little one in the garden ? 

Silvia Settala. 

There she is, she is running about between the 
rose-bushes. She is wild with delight. Beata ! She 
has hidden herself behind a hedge, the rogue. She is 
laughing. Do you hear her laughing ? Ah, when 
she laughs, I know the joy of flowers when they are 
filled to the brim with dew. That is how her fresh 
laughter fills my heart to overflowing. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Perhaps Lucio too hears her, and is consoled. 

Silvia Settala. 

\Grave and trembling, leaning toivards the Maestro, 
and taking his hands.] You think then that he will 
really be healed of all his wounds ? You think he 
will come back to me with all his soul ? Did you 
feel that, when you saw him, when you talked with 
him ? What did your heart say ? 



G10C0NDA 7 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

It seemed to me, just now, that he had the look of 
a man who begins to live over again with a new 
sense of life. He who has seen the face of death 
cannot but have seen in that instant the face of 
truth also. The bandage is taken off his eyes. He 
knows you now wholly. 

Silvia Settala. 

Maestro, Maestro, if you deceive yourself, if it is a 

vain hope, what will become of me ? All my strength 

is worn out. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

But what is there now to fear ? 

Silvia Settala. 

He wanted to die; but the other, the other woman 
lives, and I know that she is implacable. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
And what could she do now ? 

Silvia Settala. 
She could do anything, if she were still loved. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Still loved ? Beyond death ? 



3 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 
Beyond death. Ah, if you knew my anguish ! It 
was for her that he wanted to die, in a moment of 
rage and of delirium. Think how he must have loved 
her, if the thought of me, if the thought of Beata, 
could not restrain him ! Then, in that awful 
moment, he was her prey wholly; he was at the 
height of his fever, of his agony, and all the rest of 
the world was blotted out. Think how he must have 
loved her ! 

[The iv oman's voice is subdued but lacerating. 
The old man boivs his head. 
Now, who can say what took place in him, after the 
blow, when the mist of death passed before his soul? 
Has he awakened without memory ? Does he see an 
abyss between his life as it renews itself and the part 
of himself that he left behind in that mist ? Or else, 
or else the image has risen again out of the depths, 
and remains there, against the shadow, dominant, in 
indestructible relief ? Tell me ! 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

[Perplexed.'] Who can say ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[In a sorrowful voice.] Ah, now you yourself dare 



GIOCONDA 9 

not console me any longer. Then, it is so? There 
is no help ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

[Talcing her hands.'] ISTo. no, Silvia. I meant : 
who can say what change is brought about in a nature 
like his by so mysterious a force ? Everything in him 
speaks of some new good thing that has come to him. 
Look at him when he smiles. Just now, yonder, 
before you left him to come out with me, when he 
kissed those dear hands of yours, did you hot feel 
that his whole heart melted into tenderness and 
humility ? 

Silvia Settala. 

[Her face slightly flushed.] Yes, it is true. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

[Looking at her hands.] Dear, dear hands, brave 

and beautiful, steadfast and beautiful ! Your hands 

are extraordinarily beautiful, Silvia. If sorrow has too 

often set them together, it has sublimated them also, 

perfected them. They are perfect. Do you remember 

the woman of Verrocchio, the woman with the bunch 

of flowers, with the clustering hair ? Ah, she is there ! 

[He perceives, from the look and smile of Silvia, 

that there is a copy of the bust on a little 

cupboard in a corner of the room. 



io GI0C0NDA 

So yon have realised the relationship. Those two 
hands seem of the same blood as yours, they are of 
the same essence. They live — do they not? — with 
so luminous a life that the rest of the figure is 
darkened by them. 

Silvia Settala. 
[Smiling. ~\ Oh, young, always young in soul ! 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

When Lucio comes back to his work, he ought to 
model your hands the first day. I have a fragment 
of ancient marble, found in the Oricellari Gardens. 
I will give it to him, that he may chisel them in that, 
and lay them up like a votive offering. 

Silvia Settala. 

\A cloud passing across her forehead.] Do you think 
he will come back to his work soon 1 Will he wish 
to ? Have you spoken of it with him ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Yes, just now, when you were not there. 

Silvia Settala. 
What did he say ? 



GIOCONDA II 

Lorenzo Gaddi 

"Vague, delicious things, a convalescent's dreams. 
I know them. I too was once ill. It seems to him 
now as if he has lost hold of his art, as if he had no 
longer any power over it, as if he had become a 
stranger to beauty. Then again it seems to him as if 
his thumbs had assumed a magic force, and that at a 
mere touch he can evoke forms out of the clay as 
easily as in dreams. He is somewhat uneasy about 
the disorder in which he fancies his studio was left, 
on the Mugnone yonder. He asked me to go and 
see. Have you the key ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[Anxiously.] There is the caretaker. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
How long is it since you were there ? 

Silvia Settala. 

Since this began. I never had the courage to go 
back again. I feel as if I should see the stains of 
blood, and find traces of her everywhere. She is 
still mistress there. That place is still her domain. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
The domain of a statue. 



12 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 

No, no. Do you not know that she had a key ? 
She came and went there as if it belonged to her. 
Ah, I have told you, I have told you ; she lives, and 
is implacable. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Are you sure that she came back, after what 

happened ? 

Silvia Settala. 

Sure. Her insolence has no bounds. She is with- 
out pity and without shame. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

And he, Lucio, does he know ? 

Silvia Settala. 

He does not know. But he will surely know it 

sooner or later. She will find a way of letting him 

know. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
But why ? 

Silvia Settala. 

Because she is implacable, because she will not 
relinguish her prey. 

\_A pause. The old man is silent. The woman's 
voice becomes harsh and tremulous. 
And the statue, the Sphinx, have you seen it ? 



GIOCONDA 13 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

[After a moment's hesitation.} Yes. I have seen 

it. 

Silvia Settala. 

Was it he who showed it to you ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Yes, one day last October. He had just finished 

it. [A pause. 

Silvia Settala. 

[In a trembling voice, ivhich almost Jails her.} It is 
wonderful, is it not ? Tell me. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Yes, it is exquisitely beautiful. 

Silvia Settala. 

For eternity ! 

[A pause, burdened with a thousand undefined 
and inevitable things. 

The Yoice of Beata. 
[From the garden.} Mamma ! Mamma ! 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
The child is calling you. 



14 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 

[Starting up, and leaning out of the ivindow.] 
Beata ! Ah, there she is ; my sister Francesca is 
coming across the garden ; she is coming here with 
Cosimo Dalbo. Do you know ? Cosimo has returned 
from Cairo ; he arrived at Florence last night. Lucio 
will be delighted to see him. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

[Rising to go.~\ Good-bye, then, dear Silvia : I shall 
see you perhaps to-morrow. 

Silvia Settala. 

Stay a little longer. My sister would like to see 

you. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

I must go. I am late now. 

Silvia Settala. 
When shall I have the gift you promised mo ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Perhaps to-morrow. 

Silvia Settala. 

No perhaps, no perhaps. I shall expect you. You 
must come here often, every day. Your presence 



GIOCONDA 15 

does us gocd. Do not forsake me. I trust in you, 

Maestro. Remember that a menace is still hanging 

over my head. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Do not fear. Keep up your courage ! 

Silvia Settala. 
[Moving toivards the door.] Here is Francesca. 



SCENE II. 

Francesca Doni enters, goes up to her sister, and 
embraces her. Cosimo Dalbo, who follows her, 
shakes hands with Lorenzo Gaddi, who is on the 
point of going out. 

Francesca Doni. 

Do you see whom I am bringing ? We met out- 
side the gate. How are you, Maestro ? Are you 
going just as I come in ? [She shakes hands with the 

old man.] 

Silvia Settala 

[Holding out her hand cordially.] Welcome back, 
Dalbo. We were expecting you. Lucio is impatient 
to see you. 



i6 G10C0NDA 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

[With affectionate solicitude.'] How is he now? Is 
he up ? Is he quite well ? 

Silvia Settala. 

He is convalescent ; still a little weak ; but getting 
stronger every day. The wound is entirely closed. 
You will see him in a minute. The doctor is with 
him ; I will go and tell him you are here. It will be 
a great delight for him. He has asked after you 
several times to-day. He is impatient to see you. 
[She turns to Lorenzo Gaddi.] To-morrow, then. 

[She goes out with a light and rapid step. The 

sister, the Maestro, and the frit nd follow her 

with their eyes. 

Francesca Doxi. 

[With a kindly smiled] Poor Silvia ! For the last 

few days, she seems as if she had wings. When I 

look at her sometimes, it seems to me as if she is 

going to take flight towards happiness. And no one 

deserves happiness more ; is it not true, Maestro ? 

You know her. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Yes, she is really as your sisterly eyes see her. She 
comes winged out of her martyrdom. There is a sort 



GIOCONDA 17 

of incessant quiver in hsr. I felt it just now, when 
she stood near me. Truly she is in a state of grace. 
There is no height to which she could not attain, 
Lucio has in his hands a life of name, an infinite 
force. 

FllANCESCA DONI. 

You were with him some time to-day. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Yes, hours. 

Francesca Doxi. 

How was he ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Running over with sweetness, and a little be- 
wildered. You will see him presently, Dal bo. His 
sensitiveness is a danger. Those who love him can 
do him much good and much harm. A word agitates 
and convulses him. Watch over all your words, you 
who love him. Good-bye. I must go. 

[Takes leave of them both. 
Francesca Doni. 

Good-bye, Maestro. Perhaps we shall see you here 
again to-morrow. I hope so. You have a horror of 
my stairs ! 

[She accompanies the old man to the door ; then 
returns to the friend. 
What a fire of intelligence and of goodness, in that 



18 GIOCONDA 

old man ! When he comes into a room he seems to 

bring comfort to all. The sad rejoice and the merry 

become fervent. 

Costmo Dalbo. 

He inspires the soul ; he belongs to the noblest 

race of mankind. His work is a continual exaltation 

of life; it is the continual force of communicating a 

spark, whether to his statues or to the creatures whom 

he meets by the way. Lorenzo Gaddi seems to me to 

deserve a far higher fame than he receives from his 

contempories. 

Francesca Dont. 

It is true, it is true. If you knew what energy 
and what delicacy he showed, in that horrible affair ! 
When the thing happened, my sister was not there ; 
she was with our mother, at Pisa, with Beata. The 
thing happened in the studio, there, on the Mugnone, 
in the evening. Only the caretaker heard the report. 
When he discovered the truth, he ran to tell Lorenzo 
Gaddi before any one else. In the anguish and 
horror of that winter evening, in the midst of all the 
confusion and uncertainty, he alone never lost his 
presence of mind, nor had a single instant's hesitation. 
He preserved a strange lucidity, by which every one 
was dominated. He made every arrangement : all 
obeyed him. It was he who had poor Lucio brought 



GIOCONDA ig 

to the house here, half dead. The doctor despaired of 
saving him. He alone declared, with an obstinate 
faith : " No, he will not die, he will not die, he cannot 
die." I believed him. Ah, what a heroic night, 
Dalbo. And then the arrival of Silvia, his telling 
her himself, forbidding her to enter the room where 
a mere breath might have quenched that glimmer of 
life : and her strength, her incredible endurance 
under watching and waiting for whole weeks, the 
proud and silent vigilance with which she guarded 
the threshold as if to hinder the coming of death ! 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

And I was far away, unconscious of all, blissfully 
idle in a boat on the Nile ! Yet I had a kind of pre- 
sentiment, before leaving. That was why I tried 
every means to persuade Luck) to go with me, as 
we had often dreamed of doing together. He had 
then finished his statue ; and I thought that his 
liberty was in that wonderful marble. He said, 
" Not yet ! " And a few months after he was 
seeking it in death. Ah, if I had not gone away, if 
I had stayed by him, if I had been more faithful, if I 
had known how to defend him against the enemy, 
nothing would have happened. 



20 CIOCONDA 

Francesca Doxi. 

There is nothing to regret if so much good can 
come out of so much evil. Who knows in what 
sadness of despair my sister might have perished, if 
the violence of that act had not suddenly reunited 
her to Lucio ! But do not think that the enemy has 
laid down arms. She has not abandoned the field. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Who ? Gioconda Dianti ? 

Francesca Doxi. 

[Motioning to him to be silent, and lowering her 
voice.] Do not say that name ! 



SCENE III. 

Lucio Settala appears on the threshold of the door, 
leaning on the arm of Silvia; he is pale and 
thin, and his eyes look extraordinarily large with 
suffering ; a faint, sweet smile gives refinement to 
a voluptuous mouth. 

Lucio Settala. 
Cosimo I 



GIOCONDA 21 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

[Turning and running up to Mm.] Oh, Lucio, dear, 
dear friend ! 

[lie puts his arms about the convalescent, while 

Silvia moves aside, nearer to her sister, and 

goes out with her, sloivly, pausing for a 

moment to look at her husband before going. 

You are well again, are you not ? You are not 

suffering now ? I find you a little pale, a little thin, 

but not so very much. You look as I have seen you 

sometimes after a period of feverish work, when you 

have been with your clay for twelve hours a day, 

consumed with that fire. Do you remember ? 

Lucio Settala. 

[Looking confusedly about him, to see if Silvia is 
still in the room.] Yes, yes. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
Then too your eyes looked larger. . . . 

Lucio Settala. 



[With an indefinable, almost childish restlessness^] 
nd Silvia ? Where 
here with Francesca ? 



And Silvia? Where is Silvia gone Wasn't she 



22 GIOCONDA 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
They have left us alone. 

Lucio Settala. 

"Why? She thinks, perhaps. . . . Xo, I have 
nothing to tell you, I know nothing now any more. 
Perhaps you know. For me, no ; I don't remember. 
I don't want to remember. Tell me about yourself ! 
Tell me about yourself ! Is the desert beautiful ? 

[He speaks in a singula?' way, as if in a dream, 
with a mixture of agitation and stupor. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

I will tell you. But you must not tire yourself. 

I will tell you all my pilgrimage ; I will come here 

every day, if I may ; I will stay with you as long as 

you like, only not long enough to tire you. Sit here. 

Lucio Settala. 
[Smiling.] Do you think I am so feeble? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
No, you are all right now, but it is better for you 
not to tire yourself. Sit here. 

[He makes him sit down near the window, and 
looks out at the hill clearly outlined against 
the April sky. 



GIOCONDA 23 

Ah, my dear friend, I have seen marvellous things 
with these eyes, and they have drunk light in com- 
parison with which this seems ashen ; but, when I 
see again a simple line like that (look at San 
Miniato !) I seem to find myself again, after an 
interval of wandering. Look at that dear hill ! The 
pyramid of Cheops does not make one forget the 
Bella Yillanella ; and more than once, in the gardens 
of Koubbeh and Gizeh, hives of honey, chewing a 
grain of resin, I thought of a slim Tuscan cypress on 
the edge of a narrow grove of olives. 

Llcio Settala. 

[Half closing his eyelids under the Ireath of Spring.] 
It is good to be here, is it not ? There is an odour of 
violets. Perhaps there is a bunch of violets in the 
room. Silvia puts them everywhere, even under my 
pillow. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Do you know, I have brought you the violets of the 
desert, between the pages of a Koran. I gatheied 
them in the garden of a Persian monastery, near the 
Thebaid, on the side of the Mokattam, on an 
eminence of sand. There, in a cavern dug out of the 
mountain, covered with carpets and cushions, the 



24 GIOCONDA 

monks offer their visitors a tea with a special flavour, 
Arab tea, perfumed with violets. 

Lucio Settala. 

And you have brought them for me, buried in a 

book ! How happy you were to be able to gather 
them, so far away ; and I might have been with you. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

There, all was oblivion. I went up by a long, 
straight stone staircase, that leads from the foot of 
the mountain to the gate of the Bectaschiti. The 
desert was all about ; vast, hallucinating dryness, in 
which there was no life but the stirring of wind and 
the quivering of heat. I could only distinguish here 
and there, between the sand-heaps, the white stones 
of Arab cemeteries. I heard the crying of hawks 
high up in the sky. I saw on the Kile multitudes of 
boats with great lateen sails, white, slow, going on, 
going on, like snow-flakes. And little by little I was 
caught up into an ecstasy that you can never have 
known, the ecstasy of light. 

Lucio Settala. 

[la afar off voice.] And I might have been with 
you, loitering, forgetting, dreaming, drunk with light. 
You went down the Kile, did you not ? in an ancient 



GIOCONDA 25 

boat loaded with wine-skins, sacks, and cages. You 
landed on an island towards evening; you were 
dressed in white serge ; you were thirsty ; you drank 
at a spring ; you walked barefoot upon flowers ; and 
the odour was so strong that you seemed to have for- 
gotten hunger. Ah, I thought, I felt, these things 
from my pillow. And I followed you through the 
desert, when the fever was at its height ; through a 
desert of red sand, sown with glittering stones that 
splintered crackling like twigs in the fire. 

A pause. lie leans forward a little, saying in a 
clear voice and ivith open eyes : 
And the Sphinx ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

I saw it first at night, by the light of stars, sunken 
into the sand that still keeps the violent imprint of 
whirlwinds. The face and the croup rose out of that 
quieted storm, all that was human and all that was 
bestial in it. The face, whose mutilations were 
hidden by the shadow, seemed to me at that moment 
exquisitely beautiful : calm, august, cerulean as the 
night, almost meek. There is nothing in the world, 
Lucio, so much alone as that ; but my mind was, as 
it were, before multitudes who had slept, and on 
whose eyelashes the dew had fallen. Then I saw it 



26 GIOCONDA 

again by day. The face was bestial, like the croup ; 
the nose and throat were eaten away ; the droppings 
of birds fouled the fillets. It was the heavy w-ingless 
monster imagined by the excavators of tombs, by the 
embalmers of corpses. And I saw, in the sun before 
me, your Sphinx, pure and imperious, with wings 
imprisoned alive in the shoulders. 

Lucio Settala. 

\With a sudden emlion.~\ My statue ? You mean my 
statue? You s-aw it, ah, yes, before you went; and 
you found it beautiful. 

\_He looks uneasily towards the door, fearing 
Silvia might hear him, and lowers his voice. 
You found it beautiful ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Exquisitely beautiful. 

[Lucio covers his eyes with both hands and 
remains for some seconds as if trying to evoke 
a vision in the darkness. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Uncovering his eyes.] I no longer see it. It escapes 
me. It comes and goes in a breath, confusedly. If I 
had it here before me now it would seem new to me : 



GIOCONDA 27 

I should cry out. And yet I carved it, with these 
hands ! 

[lie looks at his thin, sensitive hands. His agita- 
tion increases. 
I don't know. I don't know. In the beginning of 
my fever, when I still had the bullet in my flesh, and 
the continual murmuring of death in my lost soul, I 
saw it standing at the foot of the bed, lit like a torch, 
as if I myself had moulded it out of some incandescent 
material. So for many days and nights I saw it 
through my eyelids, It grew brighter as my fever 
increased. When my pulse burned it turned to 
flame. It was as if all the blood shed at its feet had 
gone up it into and boiled up in it . . . 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

I Uneasily, looking towards the door, with the same 
fear.] Lucio, Lucio, you said just now that you knew 
nothing now, that you did not want to remember 
anything. Lucio ! 

\He gently shakes his friend, ivho remains 
rigid, 

Lucio Settala. 

[Recollecting himself.] Do not fear. I have left it 
all far, far behind me, at the bottom of the sea. The 
statue was drowned too, with all the rest, after the 



2-8 GIOCONDA 

shipwreck. That is why lean no longer see it except 
confusedly, as if through deep water. 

Cos i mo Dalbo. 

It alone shall be saved, to live for erer ; and so 
much sorrow shall not have been suffered in vain, so 
much evil shall not have been useless, if one thing so 
beautiful remains over, to be added to the ornament of 
life. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Smiling again ivith his faint smile and speaking in 
his far-off voice.] It is true. I sometimes think of the 
fate of one whose ship and all that was in it went down 
in a storm. On a day as calm a^ this, he took a boat 
and a net, and he returned to the place of the ship- 
wreck, hoping to draw T something up out of the depths. 
And, after much labour, he drew on shore a statue. 
And the statue was so beautiful that he wept for joy 
to see it again ; and he sat down on ,the sea-shore to 
gaze upon it, and was content w T ith that gain, and 
would seek after nothing more: "well, I forget the 
rest ! " [He rises hastily. 

Why has not Silvia come back ? [lie listens. 

Who is laughing? Ah, it is Beata in the garden. 
Look ; San Miniato is all gold ; it lightens. Is there 
a more glorious light at Thebes ? 



GIOCONDA 29 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

The ecstasy of light ! I told you : you can know it 
nowhere else. Circles, garlands, wheels, roses of 
splendour, innumerable sparkles. . . . The verses of 
the Paradiso recur to one's mind. Only Dante has 
found dazzling words. In certain hours the Nile 
becomes the flood of topazes, the " marvellous gulf." 
Like a stone in water, a gesture in the air arouses 
thousands and thousands of waves. All things swim 
in light ; all the leaves drip with it. The women, 
who pass along the stream with full wine-skins, 
actually flame like the angelic ho&t in the song, " dis- 
tinct in light and form." 

[Lucio, catching sight of a bunch of violets on the 

table, takes them up and buries his face in 

them, to drink in their odour. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Still holding the violets to his nostrils and half- 
closing his eyes ivith delight.'] Are the women of the 
Kile beautiful ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Some, in youth, have bodies of marvellous purity 
and elegance. You, who like firm and active muscles, 
a certain acerbity in form, long, nervous legs, would 



30 GI0C0NDA 

find incomparable models there. How often have I 
thought of you ! In the island of Elephantina I had 
a little friend of fourteen ; a girl golden as a date, 
thin, lithe, firm, with strong, arched loins, straight, 
strong legs, perfect knees ; a very rare thing, as you 
know. In all that hard slenderness, which gave one 
the impression of a javelin, sharp and precise, three 
things delighted me with their infinitely soft grace : 
the mouth, the shadow of the eyelashes, the tips of 
the fingers. She braided her hair with fingers rosy- 
tipped like petals dyed with purple : and to watch her 
in that act, on the threshold of her white house, was 
the delight of my mornings. I should like to have 
taken her away with the statuettes, the scarabsei, the 
cloths, the tobacco, the scents, the weapons. I have 
brought you a beautiful bow that I bought at 
Assouan, and that is a little like her. 

Lucio Settala. 

[With a slight perturbation, throwing back his head.] 
She must have been a delicious creature ! 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Delicious and harmless. She was like a beautiful 
bow, but her arrows were without venom. 



GIOCONDA 31 

Lucio Settala. 
You loved her ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

As I love my horse and my dogs. 

Lucio Settala. 

Ah, you were happy there ; your life was light and 
easy. It must have been the island of Elephantina 
where I saw you come on shore, in a dream. I might 
have been with you ! But I will go, I will leave here. 
Do you not long to return ? I will have a white 
house on the Nile ; I will make my statues with the 
slime of the river, and set them up in that light of 
yours that will turn them to gold for me. Silvia ! 
Silvia ! 

\IIe calls towards the door as if seized by a 
sudden impatience, an anxious will to live. 
Would it be too late ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
It is too late. The great heats are coming on. 

Lucio Settala. 

What does it matter? I love summer heat, sultri- 
ness even. All the pomegranates will be in flower in 
the gardens, and when it rains they will see those 



32 GIOCONDA 

large, warm drops that make the earth sigh for 
pleasure. 

Cosmo Dalbo. 

But the Khamsin ? when all the desert rises up 
against the sun ? 

[Silvia appears on the threshold, smiling, ler 
whole being visibly animated. She has 
changed her gown ; she is dressed in a clearer, 
more spring-like colour; and she carries in 
her hands a bunch of fresh roses. 

Silvia Settala. 

What do you say, Dalbo, against the sun ? Did 

you call, Lucio ? 

Lucio Settala. 

[Re-taken by a hind of restless timidity, as of a man 
who feels the need of self-abandonment, to which he 
dares not give ivay.] Yes, I called you, because I 
thought you were never coming back. Cosimo was 
telling me of so many beautiful things. I wanted you 
to hear them too. 

[He looks at his ivife ivith surprise in his eyes, as 
if he discovered a new charm in her. 
Were you going out ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[Blushing slightly.] Ah, you are looking at my gown. 



GIOCONDA 33 

I put it on to see how it looked, while Francesca was 
there. My sister sends her apologies to you both for 
having gone without coming to say good-bye. She 
was in a hurry : her children were waiting for her. 
She hopes, Dalbo, that you will come and see her 
soon. [She puts the roses on a table. 

Will you dine with us to-night ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Thanks. I cannot to-night. My mother expects 

me. 

Silvia Sett a la. 

Naturally. To-morrow, then ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

To-morrow. I will bring my presents for you, 

Lucio. 

Lucio Settala. 

[ With childish curiosity.} Yes, yef, bring them, bring 

them. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Smiling mysteriously.} I too am to have a present 
to-morrow. 

Lucio Settala. 
From whom ? 

Silvia Settala, 

From the Maestro. 



34 G 10 CON DA 

Lucio Settala. 
What? 

Silvia Settala. 
You shall see. 

Lucio Settala. 

[With a joyous movement.] You too shall see all the 
beautiful things that Cosimo has brought me : cloths, 
scents, weapons, scarabaei. . . ... 

Cosimo Dalbo, 

Amulets against every evil, talismans for happiness. 
On Gebel-el-Tair, in a Coptic convent, I found the 
most powerful of scarabsei. The monk told me a long 
story of a cenobite who, at the time of the first perse- 
cution, took refuge in a vault, and found a mummy 
there, and took it out of its swathings of balm, and 
restored it to life, and the resuscitated mummy, with its 
painted lips, told him the story of its old life, which 
had been one whole tissue of happiness. In the end, 
as the cenobite wished to convert it, it preferred to lie 
down again in its embalmings ; but first it gave him 
the guardian scarabseus. To tell you what use was 
made of it by the solitary, and through what vicissi- 
tudes it passed across the centuries into the hands of 
the good Copt, would take too long. Certainly, a 



GIOCONDA 35 

more powerful one is not in all Egypt. Here it is : I 
offer it to you, I offer it to you both. 

[He hands the amulet to Silvia, who examines it 

carefully and then passes it to Lucio, with a 

sudden light in her eyes. 

Silvia Settala. 

How blue it is It is brighter than a turquoise. 

Look. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

The Copt said to me : " Small as a gem great as a 
destiny ! " 

[Lucio turns the mystic stone betiveen his fingers, 
uhich tremble a little, fumblingly. 
Good-bye then : to-morrow ! Good night. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Picking a rose out of the bunch and offering it to 
him.'] Here is a fresh rose in exchange for the 
amulet. Take it to your mother 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Thanks, To-morrow ! [He salutes them again and 
goes out. 



36 GIOCONDA 



SCENE IV. 

Lucio Settala smiles timidly, turning the scarabceus 

between his fingers, while Silvia puts the roses 

in a vase. Both, in the silence, hear the beating 

of their anxious hearts. The setting sun gilds 

the room. In the square of the window is seen 

the 2 )a ttid sky; San Miniato shines on the 

height ; the air is soft, without a breath of 

wind. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Looking into the air, and listening anxiously.] 
There is a bee in the room. 

Silvia Settala. 
[Raising her head.] A bee ? 

Lucio Settala. 

Yes. Don't you hear it ? 

\Both listen to the murmur, 

Silvia Settala. 
You are right. 

Lucio Settala. 
Perhaps you brought it in with the roses. 



GIOCONDA 27 

Silvia Settala, 
Beata picked these, 

Lucia Settala. 

I heard her laughing, just now, down in the 
garden. 

Silvia Settala. 



How pleased she is to be home again 



Lucio Settala. 
It was a good thing to send her away then. 

Silvia Settala. 

She is stronger and lovelier for having breathed 
the odour of the pines. • How good the spring must 
be at Bocca d'Arno ! Would you not like to go 
there for a while ? 

.Lucio Settala. 

There, by the sea. . . . Would you like it ? 

[Their voices are altered by a slight tremor. 

Silvia Settala. 
It has always been a dream of mine. to pass one 
spring there. 



3 3 GIOCONDA 

Lucio Settala. 

[Choked with emotion.] Your dream is mine, 
Silvia. [The amulet falls from his hands. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Stooping quickly to pick it up.] Ah, you have let 
it fall ! They would say it is a bad omen. See. 
I put it on Beata's head. " Small as a gem, great as 
a destiny ! " 

[She lays the amulet delicately ^ipon the roses. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Holding out his hands to her, as if imploring.] 

Silvia! Silvia! 

Silvia Settala. 

[Running to him ] Do you feel ill ? You look 
paler. Ah, you have tired yourself too much to-day, 
you are worn out. Sit here, come. Will you sip 
some of this cordial '{ Do you feel as if you are 
going to faint ? Tell me ! 

Lucio Settala. 

[Taking her hands with an outburst of love.] No, no, 
Silvia ; I never felt so well. You, you sit down, sit 
here ; and I at your feet, at last, with all my soul, to 
adore you, to adore you ! 



GIOCONDA 39 

\She sinks back on the divan and he falls* on 

his knees before her. She is convulsed and 

trembling, and lays her hand on his lips, as 

if to keep him from speaking. Breath and 

words pass between her Angers. 

At last ! It was like a flood coming from far off, 

a flood of all the beautiful things and all the good 

things that you have poured out on my life since you 

began to love me ; and my heart overflowed, ah, 

overflowed so that I staggered under the weight of it, 

and fainted and died of the pain and the sweetness of 

it, because I dared not say. . . . 

Silvia Settala. 

[Her face ivhite, her voice almost extinct.] No more 

say no more ! 

Lucio Settala. 

Hear me, hear me ! All the sorrows that you have 
suffered, the wounds that you have received without 
a cry, the tears that you have hidden lest I should 
have shame and remorse, the smiles with which you 
have veiled your agonies, your infinite pity for my 
wanderings, your invincible courage in the face of 
death, your hard fight for my life, your hope always 
alight beside my bed, your watches, cares, continual 
tremors, expectation, silence, joy, all that is deep, all 



4 o GIOCONDA 

that is sweet and heroic in yon, I know it all, I feel 
it all, dear soul ; and, if violence is enough to break 
a yoke, if blood is enough for redemption (oh, let 
me speak!) I bless the evening and the hour that 
brought me dying into this house of your martyrdom 
and of your faith to receive once more at your hands, 
these divine hands that tremble, the gift of life. 

[He presses his convulsed mouth against the 
palms of her hands , aad she gazes at him 
through the tears that moisten her eyelids, 
transfigured with unexpected happiness. 

Silvia Settala. 

[In a faint and broken voice.] No more, say no 
more ! My heart cannot bear it. You suffocate me 
with joy. I longed for one word from you, only one, 
no more ; and all at once you flood me with love, you 
fill up every vein, you raise me to the other side of 
hope, you outpass my dreams, you give me happiness 
beyond all expectation. Ah, what did you say of my 
sorrows? "What is sorrow endured, what is silence 
constrained, what is a tear, what is a smile, now, in 
the face of this flood that bears me away ? I feel as 
if by-and-by, for you, for you, I shall be sorry not to 
have suffered more. Perhaps I have not reached the 



GIOCONDA 41 

depths of sorrow, but I know that I have reached the 
height of happiness. 

[She blindly caresses his head, as it lies on her 

knees. 
Hise, rise ! Come nearer to my heart, rest on me, 
give way to my tenderness, press my hands on 
your eyelids, be silent, dream, call back the deep forces 
of your life. Ah, it is not me alone that you must 
love, not me alone, but the love I have for you : love 
my love ! I am not beautiful, I am not worthy of 
your eyes, I am a humble creature in the shadow ; 
but my love is wonderful, it is on high, on high, it is 
alone, it is sure as the day, it is stronger than death, it 
can work miracles ; it shall give you all that you ask. 
You can ask more than you have ever hoped. 

[She draws him to her heart, raising his head. 

His eyes are closed, his lips tight set, he is as 

pale as death, drunk and exhausted with 

emotion. 
Rise, rise! Come nearer to my heart ; rest en me. 
Do you not feel that you can give yourself up to me ? 
that nothing in the world is surer than my breast ? 
that you can find it always ? Ah, I have sometimes 
thought that this certitude might intoxicate you like 
glory. 

[He kneels before her with uplifted face ; she with 



/ 



I 



42 GIOCONDA 

both hands pushes back the hair to uncover his 

whole forehead. 
Beautiful, strong forehead, sealed and blessed ! 
May all the germs of spring awaken in your new 
thoughts ! 

[Trembling she presses her lips to his forehead. 

Silently he stretches out his arms towards the 

suppliant. The sunset is like a dawn. 



EXD OF THE FIRST ACT. 



THE SECOND ACT 

The same room, the same hoar of the day. A cloudy 
and changing sky is seen through the window. 

SCENE I 

Cosimo Dalbo is seated by a table, on which he rests 
his elbows, putting his hand to his forehead, grave 
and thoughtful. Lucio Settala is on foot, rest- 
less and agitated ; he moves about the room uncer- 
tainly, giving ivay to the anguish that oppresses 

him. 

Lucio Settala. 

Yes, I am going to tell you. Why should I hide 
the truth ? From you ! I have had a letter, I have 
opened it, read it. . 

Cos 1 mo Dalbo 
From Gioconda ? 



44 GIOCONDA 

Lucio Settala. 
From her. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

A love letter ? 

Lucio Settala. 

It burnt my fingers. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
Well ? 

[He hesitates. In a voice changed by emotion. 
You still love her ? 

Lucio Settala. 
[With a shudder of dread.'] No, no, no. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

[Looking into the depths of his eyes.] You no longer 

love her ? 

Lucio Settala. 

[Entreatingly.] Oh, do not torture me. I suffer. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
But what is it then that distresses you ? [A pause. 

Lucio Settala. 
Every day, at an hour that I know, she waits for 
me, there, at the foot of the statue, alone. 

[Another iwuse. The two men seem as if they 



GIOCONDA 45 

saiv before them something strong and living, 
a Will, evoked by those brief icords. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

She waits for you ? Where ? In your studio ? 
How could she get in ? 

Lucio Settala. 
She has a key : the key of that time. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

She waits for you ! She thinks, she desires, then, 
that you should still belong to her ? 

Lucio Settala. 
You have said it. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
And what shall you do ? 

Luoio Settala. 
What shall I do ? [A pause. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
You vibrate like a flame. 

Lucio Settala 
I suffer. 



46 GIOCONDA 

CosiMo Dalbo, 
You are burning. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Vehemently.] Xo. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Listen. She is terrible. One cannot fight against 
her save at a distance. That is why I wanted to take 
you with me, across the sea. You preferred death to 
the sea. Another (you know who, and your heart 
bleeds for her) has saved you from death. And now 
you can live only for her. 

Lucio Settala 
It is true. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

You must go away, fly from her, 

Lucio Settala. 
For always ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

For some time. 

Lucio Settala. 
She will wait for me. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
You will be stronger. 



GIOCONDA 47 

Lucio Settala. 

Her power will have increased. She will have 
more profoundly impregnated with herself the place 
that is dear to me for the work's sake that was 
achieved there. I shall see her from far off, like the 
guardian of a statue into which I put the most vivid 
breath of my soul. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

You love her. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Despairingly.] No. I do not love her. But 

think : she will always be the stronger : she knows 

what conquers and what binds me ; she is armed 

with a fascination from which I cannot free my soul 

except by tearing her out of my heart. Must. I try 

again ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Ah, you are raving ! 

Lucio Settala. 

The place where I have dreamed, where I have 
worked, where I have wept with joy, where I have 
cried on glory, where I have seen death, is her 
conquest. She knows that I cannot keep away from 
it or renounce it, that the most precious part of my 



48 GIOCONDA 

substance is diffused there : and she waits for me, 

certain. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Does she then exercise an inviolable right there ? 
Can no one forbid her entrance ? 

Lucio Settala. 
[With a profound emotion.] Turn her out ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Xo : but there may be another way, less hard, the 

simplest way : ask her for the key which she has no 

right to retain. 

Lucio Settala. 

And who is to ask her for it ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Any one of us, I myself, respectfully, in the name 

of necessity, 

Lucio Settala. 

She would refuse, she would look upon you as a 

stranger. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

You yourself then. 

Lucio Settala. 
I ? I face her ? 



GIOCONDA 49 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
No, write to her. [A pause. 

Lucio Settala. 

[TF^A the accent of absolute imjyossibUity.] I cannot. 
And it would all be in vain. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

But there is another way : leave that house, clear 
out everything, take everything somewhere else. 
You will thus avoid the intolerable sadness of 
memory. How is it you do not realise that change 
is necessary, if your life is to renew itself, so that the 
companion you have found again may help you in 
your work ? Would you have her sit where the 
other had been ? Would you have her always see- 
before her eyes the vision of that horrible evening ? 

Lucio Settala. 

[Smiling, disheartened and bitter.] Well, yes, you 
are right : we will leave here, we will go somewhere 
else, we will choose a beautiful solitary place, we will 
shake off the dust from old things, open all the 
windows, let in the pure air, take a heap of clay a 
block of marble, set up a monument to liberty. 

D 



50 GIOCONDA 

[Re breaks off. His voice becomes singularly 
calm. 
One morning, Gioconda will knock at the new door ; 
I shall open to her : she will come in : without 
surprise I shall say to her, " Welcome." 

[Unable to restrain his bitterness. 
Ah, but you are like a child ! The whole thing seems 
to you no more than a key. Call in a locksmith, 
change the lock, and I am saved. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

[Tenderly and sadly.] Do not be angry. At first I 
thought you had simply to rid yourself of an intruder. 
Now I see that my advice was childish. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Imploringly.] Cosimo, my friend, do understand 

me ! 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

I understand, but you deny it. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Again carried away by excitement.] I deny 
nothing I deny nothing. Would you have me cry 
to you that I love her ? 

[Looks about him in an aimless beivilderment. 



GIOCONDA 5 1 

[Passes his hand across his forehead with an 
air of suffering. Lowers his voice. 
You should have let me die. Think, if I who was 
intoxicated with life, if I who was frantic with strength 
and pride, if I wanted to die, be sure I knew there 
was an insuperable necessity for it. Not being able to 
live either with or without her, I resolved to quit the 
world. Think : I who looked on the world as my 
garden, and had every lust after every beauty ! Be 
sure, then, I knew there was an insuperable necessity, 
an iron destiny. You should have let me die. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
You have forgotten the divine miracle, cruelly. 

Lucio Sett ala. 

I am not cruel. Because I was in horror of that 
cruelty towards which the violence of evil drew me, 
because I would not trample upon a more than human 
virtue, because I could not endure the sweetness of a 
little unconscious voice questioning me, because I 
wished to keep myself from the worst of all (do you 
understand?) I made my resolve. And because 1 am 
in horror of beginning over again, therefore I hate 
myself ; because to-day I am like one who has taken 
a narcotic in despair, and who wakes up again, after a 



52 GIOCONDA 

sound sleep, and finds the same old despair by his 
bedside. 

Cosmo Dalbo. 

The same ! And your first words are still in my 
ears : '• I know nothing now, I don't remember, I 
don't want to remember any more." You seemed as if 
you had forgotten all, as if you reached out after some 
new good thing. The sound of your voice is still in 
my ears as you called to Beata's mother, getting up 
hurriedly, impatient, as if with an ardour that permits 
no delay. I still see the way you looked at her, when 
she entered, tremulous as hope. And, surely, that 
night you must needs have knelt to her, and she must 
have wept over you, and both together must have felt 
the goodness of life. 

Lucio Sett'ala. 

Yes, yes, it was indeed so : adoration ! All my soul 
was prostrate at her feet, knowing all that is divine in 
her, with an intoxication of humility, with a fervour 
of unspeakable gratitude. I was carried away. You 
spoke of the ecstasy of light : I experienced it in that 
moment. Every stain was wiped out, every shadow 
cleared away. Life had a new splendour. I thought 
I was saved for ever. [Re breaks off. 



G 10 CON DA 53 

CosimoDalbo. 
But then? 

Lucio Settala. 

Then I knew that there was something else that 
must be abolished in me : the force that flows in- 
cessantly to my fingers, as if to reproduce . 

Cosimo Dalco. 
What do you mean ? 

Lucio Settala. 

I mean that I should perhaps have been saved, if I 
had forgotten art also. Those days, there in my bed, 
as I looked at my feeble hands, it seemed to me in- 
credible that I should ever create again ; it seemed to 
me as if I had lost all my power. I felt completely 
estranged from the world of form in which I had 
lived . . . before I died. I thought: " Lucio Settala, 
the sculptor, is dead." And I dreamt of becoming the 
gardener of a little garden. 

[He sits down, as if quieted, half closing his eyes, 

with a weary air, a scarcely visible smile of 

irony. 
To prune roses, water them, pick the caterpillars off 
them, clip the box with shears, train the ivy up 
the walls, in a little garden sloping to the waters of 



54 GIOCONDA 

oblivion ; and not regret that one has left on the other 
shore a glorious park, populous with laurels, and 
cypresses, and myrtles, and marbles, and dreams. You 
see me there, happy, with shining shears, dressed in 
twill. 

Oslfljo Daleo. 

I do not see you. 

Lucio Settala. 
It is a pity, my friend. 

Cosmo Dalbo. 

. But who forbids your return to the great park? 
You can return to it by the alley of cypresses, and 
find your tutelar genius at the* end of the way. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Leaping to his feet, like one who again loses self- 
control.'] Tutelar! Ah, you seem to heap one word 
on another, like bandages on lint, for fear of feeling 
the pulsation of life. Have you ever pat your 
finger on an open artery, a torn tendon ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

Lucio, your anger grows on you every minute. 
You have something wry and acrid, a kind of ex- 
asperation which hinders you from being just. You 



GIOCONDA ,55 

are not yet out of convalescence, you are not yet well. 
A sudden shock has come to disturb the placid work 
that nature was carrying out in you. Your new-born 
strength festers. If my advice were worth anything, 
I would bid you go at once to Bocca d'Arno, as you 
proposed. There, between the woods and the sea, you 
will find once more a little calm, and you will think 
over what your attitude must be ; and you will find 
too the goodness that will give you light. 

Lucio Settala. 

Goodness! goodness! Do you think then that 
light must come from goodness and not from that 
profound instinct which turns and hurries my spirit 
towards the most glorious images of life ? I was 
born to make statues. When a material form has 
gone out of my hands with the imprint of beauty, 
the office assigned to me by nature is fulfilled. I 
have not exceeded my own law, whether or not I 
have exceeded the laws of right.. Is it not really 
true ? Do you admit it ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
Proceed. 

Lucio Settala. 

[Lowering his voice.] The sport of illusion has 
mated me with a creature who was never meant for 



56 GIOCONDA 

me. She is a soul of inestimable price, before whom 
I kneel and worship. But I am not a sculptor of 
souls. She was not meant for me. When the other 
appeared before me, I thought of all the blocks of 
marble hidden in the caves of far mountains, that I 
might arrest in each of them one of her motions. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

But now you have obeyed the commandment of 
Nature, in creating your masterpiece. When I saw 
your statue I thought that you were free from her. 
You have perpetuated a frail sample of the species in 
an ideal and indestructible type. Are you not there- 
fore satisfied ? 

Lucio Settala. 

[More excitedly.] A thousand statues, not one ! 
She is always diverse, like a cloud that from instant 
to instant seems changed without your seeing it 
change. Every motion of her body destroys one 
harmony and creates another yet more beautiful. 
You implore her to stay, to remain motionless ; and 
across all her immobility there passes a torrent of 
obscure forces, as thoughts pass in the eyes. Do you 
understand ? do you understand ? The life of the 
eyes is the look, that indefinable thing, more expres- 
sive than any word, than any sound, infinitely deep 



GIOCONDA 57 

and yet instantaneous as a breath, swifter than a 
flash, innumerable, omnipotent : in a word, the 
look. Now imagine the life of the look diffused 
over all her body. Do you understand ? The quiver 
of an eyelid transfigures a human face and expresses 
an immensity of joy or sorrow. The eyelashes of the 
creature whom you love are lowered : the shadow 
encircles you as the waters encircle an island : they are 
raised : the flame of summer burns up the world. 
Another quiver : your soul dissolves like a drop of 
water; another : you are lord of the universe. Imagine 
that mystery over all her body! Imagine through 
all her limbs, from the forehead to the sole of the 
foot, that flash of lightning, like life ! Can one chisel 
the look? The ancients made their statues blind. 
Now, imagine, her whole body is like the look. 

[A pause. He looks about him suspiciously, 

in fear of being heard. He comes nearer 

to his friend, who listens with increasing 

emotion. 

I have told you: a thousand statues, not one. Her 

beauty lives in every block of marble. I felt this, 

with an anxiety made up of regret and fervour, one 

day at Carrara, when she was with me, and we saw, 

coming down the mountain -side, those great oxen with 

yokes, drawing the marble in waggons. An aspect of 



58 GIOCONDA 

her perfection was enclosed for me in each of those 
formless masses. It seemed to me as if there went out 
from her towards the raw material a thousand life- 
giving sparks, as from a shaken torch. We had to 
choose a block. I remember, it was a calm day. The 
marble shone in the sun like the eternal snows. We 
heard from time to time the rumbling of the mines 
that tore asunder the bowels of the silent mountain. 
I shall never forget that hour, though I were to die 
over again. She went into the midst of that concourse 
of white cubes, stopping before each. She leant over, 
observed the grain attentively, seemed to explore the 
inner veins, hesitated, smiled, passed on. To my eyes 
her garments were no covering. There was a sort of 
divine affinity between her flesh and the marble that 
she leant over until her breath touched it. Aeon- 
fused aspiration seemed to rise to her from that inert 
whiteness. The wind, the sun, the grandeur of the 
mountains, the long lines of yoked oxen, and the 
ancient curve of the yokes, and the creaking of the 
waggons, and the cloud that rose from the Tirreno, 
and the lofty flight of an eagle, everything I saw 
exalted my spirit into a limitless poetry, intoxicated 
with a dream that I had never equalled. Ah, 
Cosimo, Cosimo, I have dared to throw away a life on 
which there gleams the glory of such a memory. 



GIOCONDA 59 

"When she laid her hand on the marble that she had 
chosen, and turning to me said " This," all the moun- 
tains, from root to summit, breathed beauty. 

[An extraordinary fervour warms his voice and 

quickens his gestures. The listener is carried 

away by it, and makes no sign. 
Ah, now you understand ! You will never ask me 
again if I am satisfied. Now you know how furious 
must be my impatience when I think that she is 
there now, alone, at the foot of the Sphinx, awaiting 
me. Think, the statue rises above her, immobile, 
immutable, in its immunity from all sorrow ; and she 
is there, grieving, and her life is ebbing away, and 
something of her penshes continually. Delay is death, 
But you do not know, you do not know. . . . 

[He speaks as if about to confide a secret. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
What 

Lucio Settala. 

You do not know that I had begun another 
statue ? 

Another ? 



Cosimo Dalbo. 



Lucio Settala. 

Yes, it was left unfinished, sketched out in the 
clay. If the clay dries, all is lost. 



y 



60 GI0C0NDA 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
Well? 

Lucio Settala. 

I thought it was lost. 

[An irresistible smile shines in his eyes. His 
voice trembles. 
It is not lost ; it still lives. The last touch of the 
thumb is there, still living. 

[He makes the gesture of moulding, instinctively. 

Cosimo Dalbo 

How ? 

Lucio Settala. 

She knows the ways of the art, she knows how the 
clay is kept soft Once she used to help me. She 
herself damped the cloths 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
So she thought of keeping the clay moist while 
you were dying ! 

Lucio Settala. 

Was not that too a way of opposing death ? Was 
not that too an act of faith, admirable? She pre- 
served my work. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

While the other preserved your life. 



GIOCONDA 6 1 

Lugio Settala. 

[Gloomily, lowering his forehead, without looking at 
his friend, in an almost hard voice.] Which of the 
two is worth more ? Life is intolerable to me, if it 
was only given back with such a dragging weight on 
it. I have told you : you should have let me die. 
What greater renunciation can I make than that I 
have made ? Only death could stay the rash of desire 
that drives my whole being, fatally, towards its own 
particular good. Now I live again : I recognise in 
myself the same man, the same force. Who shall 
judge me if I follow out my destiny? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
[Terrified, taking him by the arm as if to restrain 
him.'] But what will you do ? Have you made up 
your mind ? 

[Struck by the sudden terror in the voice and 
gesture of his friend, Lucio hesitates. 
Lucio Settala. 

[Putting his hands through his hair feverishly^] 
What shall I do? What shall I do ? Do you 
know a more cruel torture ? I am dizzy ; do 
you understand ? If I think that she is there, 
and waiting for me, and the hours are passing, 
and my strength being lost, and my ardour burning 



62 GIOCONDA 

itself away, dizziness clutches hold of my soul, and I 
am in fear that I shall be drawn there, perhaps 
to-night, perhaps to-morrow. Do you know what 
that dizziness is ? Ah, if I could reopen the wound 
that they have closed for me ! 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
[Trying to lead him towards the window.] Be calm, 
be calm, Lucio. Hush ! I think I hear the voice. . . 

Lucio Settala. 
[Starting.] Silvia's? [He tarns deathly pale. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
Yes. Be calm. You are in a fever. 

[He touches his forehead. Lucio leans on the 
ivindow-sill, as if all his strength is leaving 
him. 

SCENE II. 

Silvia Settala enters with Fraxcesca Doni. The 
latter has her arm round her sister s waist. 

Silvia Settala. 

Oh, Dalbo, are you still here 1 

[She does not see Lucio's face, which he has turned 
to the open air. 



GIOCONDA 63 

Cosmo Dalbo. 

[Composing his countenance, and greeting Fran- 
cesca.] Lucio kept me. 

Silvia Settala. 
Had he a great deal to tell you ? 

Cosmo Dalbo. 

He always has a great deal to tell me, sometimes too 
much. And he is tired. 

Silvia Settala. 

Did he tell you that we are going to Bocca d'Arno 
on Saturday? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
Yes. I know. 

Francesca Don 1. 

Have you ever been to Bocca d'Arno ? 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

No, never. I know the country about Pisa: San 
Rossore, Gombo, San Pielro in Grado ; but I never 
went as far as the mouth of the river. I know that 
the coast is most lovely. 

[SihYiA gazes fixedly at her husband, ivho remains 
leaning motionless against the window-sill. 



64 GIOCONDA 

FrANCESCA DONI. 

Delicious at this time of the year : a low, open 
coast, with fine sand : sea, river, and woods : the scent 
of resin and sea-grass : sea-gulls, nightingales. You 
ought to come often and see Lucio while he is there. 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
With pleasure. 

Silvia Settala. 
We can put you up. 

[She leaves her sister and goes towards her 
husband, toith her light step. 

FitANCESCA DONI. 

Our mother has a simple house there, but it is 
large, white inside and outside, in a thicket of 
oleanders and tamarinds, and there is an Empire 
spinet, which used to belong — fancy to whom ? — to a 
sister of Napoleon, the Duchess of Lucca, the terrible, 
bony Elisa Baciocchi : a spinet that sometimes wakes 
and weeps under Silvia's fingers ; and there is a boat, 
if the Napoleonic relic doesn't tempt you, a lovely 
boat, as white as the house. 

[Silvia leans in silence against Lucio's shoulder, 
as if expectant. He remains absorbed 



GIOCONDA 65 

Cosimo Dalbo. 

To live in a boat, on the water, aimlessly, there 
is nothing so refreshing. I have lived like that for 
weeks and weeks. 

Francesca Doni. 

We ought to put our convalescent in a boat, and 
confide him to the good sea. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Touching her husband lightly on the shoulder.} 
Lucio ! [He starts and turns.'] What are you doing ? 
We are here. Here is Francesca. 

[He looks his ivife in the face, hesitatingly ; tlwn 
tries to smile. 

Lucio Settala. 

There is a shower coming. I was looking for the 
first drops: the odour of the earth. . . . 

[He turns again towards the window, and holds 
out his open hands ; they tremble visibly. 

Francesca Doni. 
April either weeps or laughs. 



66 GIOCONDA 

Lucio Settala. 
Oh, Francesca, how are you ? 

FltANCESCA DONI. 

Quite well. And you, Lucio ? 

Lucio Settala. 
Quite well, quite well. 

Francesca Doni. 
Are you going away on Saturday ? 

Lucio Settala. 
[Looking at his ivife, in a dreamy way.~\ Where ? 

Fraxcesca Doni. 
Why, to Bocca d'Arno. 

Lucio Settala. 
Ah, yes, true. My memory is quite gone. 

Silvia Settala. 
Do you not feel well to-day ? 

Lucio Settala. 

Yes, yes, quite well. The weather upsets me a 
little ; but I feel well, pretty well. 



GIOCONDA 67 

[In the tone tvith which he pronounces these 
simple words there is an excess of dissimula- 
lation, which giv§s him the strangeness of a 
madman. It is evident that the attention of 
the three bystanders is intolerable to him. 
Are you going, Cosimo ? 



Yes, I am going. It is time. 



Cosimo Dalbo. 

[Re prepares to go. 



Lucio Settala. 
I will go with you as far as the garden-gate. 

[He leaves the window and goes towards the door y 
anxiously. 

Silvia Settala. 
Are you going without your hat? 

Lucio Settala. 

Yes, I am hot. Don't you feel how heavy tho 
air is ? 

[He pauses on the threshold, waiting for his 
friend. A sharp pain suddenly goes through 
all hearts, striking every one silent.. 



68 GIOCONDA 

Cosimo Dalbo. 
Au reroir. 

[He bows in a constrained way, and goes out 

with Lucio. Silvia bends her head, knitting 

her brows, as if she is thinking out some 

resolution. Then it seems as if she is lifted 

on a sudden wave of energy. 

Francesca Doni. 
Have you seen Gaddi ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Not yet. He has not come to-day. 

Francesca Doni. 
Then you don't know. 

Silvia Settala. 
What? 

Francesca Doni. 
What he has done ? 

Silvia Settala 
No. 

Francesca Doni. 

He went to see Dianti. 



GIOCONDA 69 

Silvia Settala. 
[With restrained emotion.] To see her ! When \ 

Francesca Doni. 
Yesterday. 

Silvia Settala. 

And you have seen him ? 

Francesca Doni. 
Yes, I met him. He told me. . . 

Sjlvia Settala. 
Speak, speak ! 

Francesca Doni. 

He went to see her yesterday, about three. He 
sent in his name. He was admitted at once. She 
received him smilingly, bowed, never said a word, 
stood before him, waiting for the old man to speak, 
listened to him quietly and respectfully. You can 
imagine what he might have said to persuade her to 
give back the key, to give up any further attempts, 
and not trouble a peace bought back at the price of 
blood, and what sorrow ! When he had finished she 
merely asked : " Did Lucio Settala send you to me?" 
On his reply in the negative, she added very firmly : 
" Pardon me, but I cannot admit that any one but he 
has the right of asking what you have asked." 



70 GI0C0NDA 

Silvia Settala. 

[Turning pah and drawing herself up as if for a 
contest.] Ah, that is her last word. Well, there is 
some one else who has an equal right and who will 
insist on her right. We shall see. 

Francesca Doni. 

[Startled.] What are you thinking of doing, 
Silvia? 

Silvia Settala. 
What is necessary. 

Francesca Doni. 
What then ? 

Silvia Settala. 

Seeing her, facing her, in the place where she is an 
intruder. Do you understand ? 

' Francesca Doni. 
You would go there ? 

Silvia Settala 

Yes, I am going there. I know her time. You 
yourself know it. I will wait for her. She shall see. 
We shall meet face to face at last. 



GIOCONDA 71 

Francesca Doni. 
You will not do it. 

Silvia Settala. 
Why not ? Do you think I have not the courage ? 

Francesca Doni. 
I entreat you, Silvia ! 

Silvia Settala. 
Do you think I tremble ? 

Francesca Doni, 
I entreat you ! 

Silvia Settala. 

Oh, be sure, I shall not lower my eyes, I shall not 
faint. You ought to know me by now ; I have gone 
through more than one ordeal. 

Francesca Doni. 

I know, I know. Nothing is too much for you. 
But- think : to go there, after all that, in the very 
place where the horrible thing happened, there, alone, 
face to face with that woman, who has done you so 
much injury. 



72 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 
Well ? What of that ? Have I once — once, Fran- 
ceses ! — failed to accomplish what seemed to me 
necessary ? Tell me, have you ever known me refuse 
a burden ? From what torture have I drawn back ? 
I have faced many other sorrows, as you know. You 
are afraid that my heart will fail me if I set foot where 
he fell ? But I had the courage then to look at him . 
through the crack of the door, when he lay on his bed 
of death, and there was no one by me to support me * 
and, before I was allowed to go to his bedside, the 
surgeon's steel and the blood-stained lint passed 
through my hands. 

Francesca Doni. 

Yes, yes, true : your strength is great. Nothing 
is too much for you. But think ; this is not the same 
thing. It is not the same thing to go there, and to 
find yourself face to face with a woman whom you do 
not know, capable of anything, obstinate, impudent. 

Silvia Settala. 

I have no fear of her. What she does is base. 
Because she thinks me weak and submissive, therefore 
she is bold ; because I have so long remained silent 
and aloof, therefore she thinks she can once more get 



GIOCONDA 73 

the better of me. But she is wrong. Then all I 
cared for was lost, all resistance was useless. Now I 
have won it back, and I defend it. 

Francesca Doni. 

My God ! you are throwing yourself into a hand to 
hand contest. And if she resists ? 

Silvia Settala. 

How resists ? I have my right. I can turn her 
out. 

Francesca Doni. 

Silvia, Silvia, my sister, I entreat you ; wait a few 

days longer, think it over a little before you do this. 

Do not be rash. 

Silvia Settala. 

Ah, you speak well, you who are happy, you who 
are safe, you whose life is secure and with nothing to 
threaten your peace. Wait, think over ! But do you 
know the crisis in which I find myself to-day ? Do you 
know what I am fighting for ? For my own self and 
for Beata, for existence, for the light of my eyes. Do 
you see ? I cannot again go through a martyrdom in 
which all my nerves were torn to pieces ; in which 
every torture was tried on me. I have given sorrow 
all I can give it ; I have felt the hard iron on my 



74 GIOCONDA 

neck and on my wrists; at the day's end my sleep was 
taken away by the horror of the day to come, in which 
I should have to go on living, and, in order to live, 
squeeze out my heart drop by drop when it seemed 
empty of everything. Ah, you speak well, you! 
When you smile in your home your smile returns to 
you in a hundred rays, as if you lived in a crystal. 
For me, smiling was one sorrow the more ; under it, 
I clenched my teeth ; but Beata never saw a tear in 
my eyes. That I might fulfil the promise of her 
name, when there was not a fibre in me that was not 
wrenched asunder, my hands were always held out to 
her with flowers. I could not begin over again. I would 
rather go away myself, and find a little quiet seashore 
somewhere, and lie down there with Beata and let the 
sea take us. 

Francesca Dont. 
[Throwing her arms around her sister s neck, and 
kissing her.] What are you saying ? what are you 
sajdng ? You ought to be afraid of nothing any longer. 
Does he not love you ? Have you not seen all his love 
come back ? That is what matters ; all the rest is 
nothing. 

[Silvia closes her eyes for a few instants, and the 
illusion brightens her face. 



GIOCONDA 75 

Silvia Settala. 

Yes, yes, I have seen his love come back. It 

seems . . . How could I doubt that voice ? When 

I am not there, he calls me, he looks for me ; he 

needs me ; it seems as if I am to lead his steps. 

[She shakes herself, withdraws from her sister's 

arms, and becomes anxious again. 

But to-day. . . . Did you see him ? did you look at him ? 

To-day he is not like he was yesterday. A sudden 

change. . . . Did you look at him when he was at the 

window, leaning out ? Did you hear the sound of his 

words ? Did you see how his aim trembled when he 

stretched it out ? Ah, tell me if you too felt that 

something had happened, that something had disturbed 

him. 

Francesca Doni. 

He is still convalescent. Think ; a mere nothing is 
enough to disturb him, the air, the weather . . . 

Silvia Settala. 

No, no, it is not that. And did you not see ? 
Cosimo Dalbo too seemed to be making an effort to 
hide some shadow. My eyes never deceive me. 

Francesca Doni. 
No, it did not strike me. He was talking with me. 



76 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 

[With increasing agitation.'] But Lucio went down 
to see him out, and he has not yet come back. Or 
perhaps he went across to the other side. 

[Goes to the ivindoio, and looks through the cur- 
tains. 
Ah, he is still there, at the gate, talking, talking. He 
seems beside himself. [Lifts her eyes to the clouds. 

The thunder is coming. [Looks out again, very intently. 

Francesca Doni. 
Call him ! 

Silvia Settala. 

[Turning, as if seized by a terrible thought.] I am 
sure of it, I am sure of it. 

Francesca Doni. 
What are you thinking of now ? 

Silvia Settala. 

[Pausing, and pronouncing the words distinctly, pale 
but resolute.] Lucio knows that she is waiting for 
him. 

Francesca Doxi. 

He knows ? How ? 



GIOCONDA 77 

Silvia Settala. 
There is no doubt, there is no doubt. 

Francesca Doni. 
You imagine it. 

Silvia Settala. 
I feel it ; I am sure of it. 

Francesca Doni. 
But how ? 

Silvia Settala. 

It was bound to come ; she was bound to find out 
the way one day or another. How ? A letter, 
perhaps. He has received a letter. 

Francesca Doni. 
And you were not on the watch ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[Disdainfully.] Even that ? 

Francesca Doni. 
But perhaps you are mistaken. 

Silvia Settala. 
I am not mistaken. After the old man's visit, she 



;3 GIOCONDA 

wrote. Delay is no longer possible now, not a day, 
not an hour. You see the danger. Though he may 
have come back to me with all his soul, though he 
may have broken with her entirely, though he may 
have gone back to another life, another happiness, do 
you not feel what might still be the fascination for him 
of a woman who says, obstinate and certain : " I am 
here, I wait " ? To know that she is there, that she 
is waiting there every day, that nothing can dishearten 
her. Do you see the danger ? If Lucio knew this morn- 
ing that she is waiting for him, he must know to-night, 
and from my lips, that she waits for him no longer. 

[An indomitable energy strengthens and lifts 
her whole being. 
He shall know it to-night ; I promise him. 

[She stretches out her hand towards the window, 
with the gesture of one taking an oath. 
Will you come with me ? 

Francesca Doxi. 

[Anxious and entreating.] Silvia, Silvia, think for 
one moment ! Think what you are doing ! 

Silvia Settala. 

I do not ask your aid. I only ask you to come with 
me as far as the door. For the rest, I alone suffice ; 



GIOCONDA 79 

it is necessary that I should be alone. Will you ? 
What time is it ? 

[Turns to look at the time ; goes towards the 
table. 

Francesca Doni. 

[Stopping her.] I entreat of you ! Listen to me, 
Silvia ! My heart tells me that no good can come of 
what you are wanting to do. Listen to your sister ! 
I entreat of you. 

Silvia Settala. 

[With a gesture of impatience.] Don't you know the 
game I am playing ? Let me be. I am going alone. 
[Bends over the table, and looks at the time.] Four 
o'clock. I have not a moment to lose. Is your 
carriage there ? 

[The rahi falls suddenly on the trees in the 
gardi n, 

Francesca Doni. 

See how it is pouring ! Don't go out ! Put it off 
till to-morrow. Come, listen. [Tries to draw her 
towards her.] Wait at least till it stops raining. 

Silvia Settala. 

I have not a minute to lose. I must be there 
before her ; she must find me there as if in my own 



80 GIOCONDA 

house. Do you understand ? Let me go. Quick, 
my hat, my cloak, my gloves. Giovanna ! 

[She goes into the next room calling to her maid. 
Francesca Doni, terrified, goes towards the 
window, on which the rain is beating, 

Francesca Doni. 

My God ! my God ! [Looks into the garden ; calls : 
Lucio ! Lucio ! 

[Turns towards the door through which her sister 
has gone out. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Coming back, out of breath.^ I am ready. I left 
Beata there in tears. She wanted to go out with me. 
Stay, please ; go and comfort her. I will go alone. I 
shall take your carriage. A u revoir. 

[Is about to kiss her sister. 

Francesca Doni. 
You are going, then ? You have decided ? 

Silvia Settala. 
I am going. 

Francesca Doni. 
I will go with you. 



GIOCONDA 8 1 

Silvia Settala. 
Let us go. 

[Involuntarily she turns and looks around the 
room, as if to embrace everything that is in it 
in one look. The curtains tremble, the rain 
increases. She breathes in the damp fragrance 
that enters at the window. For one instant 
the strung bow of her will slackens. 
The odour of the earth ... 

[She shivers, as she suddenly catches sight of 
Lucio, who appears on the threshold, fever- 
ishly, with bare head, his hair and his clothes 
wet with rain. They look at one another. 
An interval of weighty silence, 

Lucio Settala. 
[In a hoarse voiced] You are going out ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Yes, I am going out. 

Lucio Settala. 

How pale you are ! [Silvia puts her hand to her 
throat^] Where are you going ? It is a deluge. 

[He touches his dripping hair. 



82 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 

I have to go out. I shall not be long. Beata is 
in there, crying because she wants to come with me. 
Go and comfort her, tell her that perhaps I will bring 
her back something beautiful. 

[Lucio suddenly takes her hands and looks her 
fixedly in the eyes. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Mistiness of herself, with a clear and firm accent.] 
What is it, Lucio ? 

[Re casts down his eyes. She withdraws her 
hands, shaking his as if in a farewell 
greeting. The temper of her will rings out in 
her vivid voice. 
An revoir I Come, Francesca. It is time. 

[She goes out rapidly, followed by her sister. 
Lucio Settala remains with bowed head, 
staggering under a thought that transfixes 
him. 

end of ihe second act. 



THE THIRD ACT 

A high and spacious room, lighted by a glass roof, 
covered with dark awnings. In the wall at th 
back there is a rectangular opening, somewhat 
larger than a door, leading into the sculptor s studio. 
On the architrave are some fragments of the frieze 
of the Parthenon ; against the two sides are two 
large winged figures, " clothed ivith the wind," the 
Nike of Samothrave and the other Nike sculptured 
by Posonius for the Doric temple of Olympia 
consecrated to Zeus ; the opening is covered by a 
red curtain. 

In the left wall there is a door, hidden by a rich 
and heavy portiere ; in the left, a little door is 
hidden by curtains. Wide divans, covered with 
cloths and cushions, surround the room. The 
figures are arranged carefully, as if to induce 
meditation and reverie : a bunch of corn in a copper 
vase stands before the Eleusinian bas-relief of 



84 GIOCONDA 

Demeter ; a little bronze Pegasus on a pedestal of 
" verde antico " stands before the Ludovisi Medusa. 
The sentiment expressed by the aspect of the place 
is very different from that which softens the aspect 
of the room in the other house, over against the 
mystic hill. Here the choice and analogy of every 
form reveals an aspiration toimrds a carnal, vic- 
torious, and creative life. The two divine mes- 
sengers seem to stir and widen the close atmosphere 
incessantly with the rush of their immense flight. 



SCENE I. 

Silvia Settala stands in the middle of the room, having 
laid down her hat, cloak, and gloves. She seems 
trying to remember the things about her, almost to 
renew her acquaintance with them, to re-establish a 
communion with them, not to feel estranged from 
them. She represses her anguish under her sisters 
eyes. Erancesca Doni is seated, because her knees 
tremble and her heart beats too loud. 

Silvia Settala. 
[Looking about her.] It is strange ; it seems larger. 



GIOCONDA 85 

Francesca Doni. 
What? 

Silvia Settala. 

The room. It doesn't seem the same. 

[She looks about her, as if breathing an unfamiliar 
air. An interval of silence. 

Francesca Doni. 
[Listening.] Did you shut the door ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Yes, I shut it. 

Francesca Doni. 

We shall hear her open it. 

Silvia Settala. 

Are you afraid ? It is not time yet. In a minute 

you must go. 

Francesca Doni. 
Where? 

Silvia Settala. 

Will you wait for me in the carriage, in the 

street ? 

Francesca Doni. 

No, it is impossible. I want to be here, to be near 
you. Could I not hide myself ? 



86 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 
Hide yourself, here ? No. I must be alone. 

Francesca Doni. 
Have pity on me ! I shall die of suspense. 

Silvia Settala. 

Wait. There ought to be a secret door here. 

[Guided by memory, she goes towards the wall 
where there is the hidden door ; looks, finds it, 
opens it. A ivave of light falls over her. 
Do you see! It goes from here into the model's 
room, then into a corridor. At the end of the corridor 
there is a door, which leads to the Mugnone. Will 
you go out that way ? 

Francesca Doni. 

Yes, but let me stay in the room or the corridor 
and wait. I will wait till you call. 

Silvia Settala. 
You promise to wait till I call ? 

Francesca Doni. 
Yes, I promise. 



GIOCONDA 87 

Silvia Settala. 

Do not fear. See, there is the sun on the 
window. 

[Both look out through the half open door. The 
inner light shines on their faces. A luminous 
streak extends over the floor. 

Francesca Doni. 

It is not raining now. Look at all the primroses 

on the roadside. 

Silvia Settala. 

Go and wait on the roadside, in the open air. Go. 

Francesca Doni. 

There is an old sick horse, with his legs in the 
water. Do you see % And the swallows skim across 
it. I think . . . 

[She starts and turns suddenly, gazing at the 
motionless folds of the portiere. 

Silvia Settala. 
What is it ? 

Francesca Doni. 



I thought I heard 



[Both listen. 



Silvia Settala. 
No, you are mistaken. It is still early. And then 



88 GIOCONDA 

the door on the stairs makes a great noise when it 

closes. Did you not hear it when we came in ? The 

walls tremble. 

Francesca Doni. 

[Imploringly.'] Silvia ! 

Silvia Settala. 

What is it now ? 

Francesca Doni. 

Listen. There is still time. Come away, come 
away at least for to-day ! Try, at least. She will 
know you have been here. We will speak to the 
caretaker again. You ought to leave some sign here, 
forget a glove, for instance. She will understand, 
she will not return. 

Silvia Settala. 

A glove enough ? Ah, how easy everything is for 
your heart ! 

[She looks round her again, with a secret despair. 
There is nothing left of me, here. 

[The sister remains by the half open door, her 
figure partially lit up by the vivid reflection. 
Silvia moves some paces into the room. An 
interval of silence. 
Everything seems larger, higher, darker. 



GIOCONDA 89 

Fransesca Doni. 

It is the shadow that deceives you. There is not 
much light. Draw back the awning over the sky- 
light. 

Silvia Settala. 

No, it is better like this. 

[She looks in every comer, as if seeking a trace. 
Tell me . . . 

[Her voice chokes ivith emotion. 
That night they came for you, and you hurried 
here. You were here at the very beginning . . . 

[Hesitates. 
Where was he ? Do you remember exactly where ? 

Francesca Doni. 
There, in the studio, under the statue. No, do not 



go! 



[Silvia turns toivards the red curtain that hangs 
betiveen the tivo Victories. At her feet, like a 
dividing line, stretches the thin zone of the 
sun. 

Silvia Settala. 

[In a low voice.] The statue is there. 

Francesca Doni. 
Do not go ! 



90 GI0C0NDA 

[Silvia remains for some instants motionless 
and silent before the closed curtain, from 
lohich she is separated by the shining zone. 
Do not go ! 

[Silvia steps across the sunlight, almost violently, 
as if to overcome an obstacle ; with a rapid 
movement she raises the curtain, slips between 
the folds, and disappears. The curtain falls 
behind her, heavy and thick. There are a 
few instants of silence, in which nothing is 
heard but the rapid breathing of the sister. 
Suddenly, within the purple depths, appears 
the while face of Silvia, which seems irradiated 
icith the light of the masterpiece. Her bare 
hands, as they put aside the curtains, seem 
to shine against the depths of colour. Her 
eyes are intent, widened by ivonder, dazzled, 
not by a vision of death, but by an image of 
perfect life. The water gathers tremulously 
in her eyes. Tivo marvellous tears form little 
by little, shine, and slowly run down her 
cheeks. Before they reach her mouth she stops 
tliem with her fingers, diffuses them over her 
face, as if to bathe in lustral dew ; for it is 
not by the remembrance or the trace of human 
bloodshed that she is moved, but by the sight 



GIOCONDA 91 

of a thing of beauty, solitary and free. She 
has received the supreme gift of beauty : a 
truce to anguish, a pause to fear. The 
sublime lightning -flash of joy has shone 
through her wounded soul for an instant, 
rendering it crys'a'line as tta's. These tears 
are but the soiu's mute and ardent offering 
before a masterpiece. 
Silvia, Silvia, you are weeping. 

Silvia Settala. 

[In a subdued voice, with a gesture of silence.] Hush ! 
[She moves away from the curtain, asking in a 
subdued voice : 
Have you seen ? have you seen ? 

Francesca Doni. 

[Misunderstanding, with a start. \ Who ? Her ? Is 
she there ? 

Silvia Settala. 
No, the statue. 

[The sister nods her head, with a gesture expressing 
rapt admiration. The sound of a heavy door 
closing is heard. Both start. 
She is here. Go, go. 



92 GIOCONDA 

Francesca Doni. 

[Holding out her arms towards her with a last agonised 
entreaty.] Oh, my sister ! 

Silvia Settala. 

[Recovering her former energy.] Go! Do not fear. 
[She pushes her sister out through the door, and 
closes it. The zone of sun disappears ; the 
room returns to an even shadow. 



SCENE II. 

Silvia Settala is standing with her face turned 
towards the door, her eyes fixed, almost rigid in ex- 
pectation. Through the profound, silence is heard 
distinctly the turning of the key in the lock. 
Silvia's attitude does not change. A hand lifts 
the portiere. Gioconda Dianti enters, closing the 
door behind her . At first she does not perceive the 
adversary, since she comes from the light into the 
shadow and a thick veil covers her whole face. 
When she perceives her, she stops, with a choked cry. 
Both remain for some instants facing one another 
without speaking. 



GIOCONDA 93 

Silvia Settala. 

[With a firm and clear aceent, but without resentment 
or menace.} I am Silvia Settala. 

[Her rival is silent, still veiled. A pause. 
And you ? 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

[In a low voice.} Do you not know, Signora ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[Still restraining herself.] I know only that you have 
entered here, as into a place that belongs to you. You 
find me here, as in my own house. One of us two, 
therefore, usurps the right of the other; one of us 
two is the intruder. Which ? [A pause. 

I perhaps? 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

[A Iways hidden under the veil, and in a low voice, as 
if to lessen her audacity.] Perhaps. 

[Silvia Settala turns paler and staggers a little, 
as if she had received a blow. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Resolutely, quivering with disdain.] Well, there is a 
woman who has drawn a man into her net with the 
worst allurements ; who has torn him away from the 



94 GIOCONDA 

peace of home, the nobility of art, the beauty of a 
dream which he had nourished for years with the 
flowers of his force ; who has dragged him into a turbid 
and violent delirium, where he has lost all sense of good- 
ness and justice ; who has inflicted on him the sharpest 
torments that the cruelty of a torturer sick with 
ennui could desire ; who has exhausted and withered 
him up, keeping a perverse fever continually alight in 
his veins ; who has rendered life intolerable to him ; 
who has armed his hand and turned it against his 
own life ; who in short, has known that he was lying 
wounded to death on a far-off bed, for days and days, 
while a ceaseless fight went on about him against death ; 
and who has not had remorse, nor pity, nor shame, but 
has gone back to the sinister place before the blood 
was wiped off the floor, meditating another attack upon 
her prey, awaiting him again at the journey's end, 
calculating one by one the effects of her temerity 
and of her tenacity, promising herself the pleasure 
of another ruin. There is a woman who has done 
this, who has said : " A strong and noble life 
flourished freely in the world ; I have seized it, bent 
it back, beaten it clown, then shattered it at a blow. I 
thought I had destroyed it for ever. And lo! it 
flourishes again, is renewed, re-arises can put forth 
fresh flowers ! About it the wounds close, the pains 



GIOCONDA 95 

are calmed, hope springs up again, joy can smile ! 
Shall I endure this wrong ? Shall I let myself be thus 
deluded ? No, I will begin again, I will hold on, I 
will overcome all resistance, I will be implacable." 
There is a woman who has promised this to herself, 
who has gripped her will like an axe, who is pre- 
pared to deliver fresh blows smiling. Do you know 
her ? She has entered here with her face covered, she 
has spoken in a dull voice, she has let fall a cold word, 
calculating always on her own audacity and on the 
other's submissiveness. Do you know her ? 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

[Without changing her manner.] She whom I know 
is different. Only because she is sad in your presence, 
does she speak in a low voice. She respects the great 
and sorrowful love that has given you life ; she admires 
the virtue that exalts you. While you were speaking, 
she understood that it was only in order to comfort 
an unutterable despair that } 7 our words had created a 
figure so different from the real person. There is 
nothing implacable in her ; but she herself obeys a 
power that may be implacable. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Bitter and haughty.] I know that you are practised 
in all tongues. 



96 GIOCONDA 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

Of what avail is this harshness ? Your first words 

had another sound ; and it seemed, when you asked 

me a question, that you wanted simply to know the 

truth. 

Silvia Settala. 

And what then is your truth ? 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

The truth that matters, between us, is one only : 
truth of love. You know it. But I fear to wound. 

Silvia Settala. 
Do not fear to wound. 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

The woman against whom you made such accusa- 
tions was ardently loved, and — suffer me to say it ! — 
with a glorious love. She did not abase but exalt a 
strong life. And since the last voice that she heard, 
a few hours before the terrible deed was accomplished, 
the last was of love, she believes that she is still 
loved. And this is the truth that matters. 

Silvia Settala. 
[Blindly.] She is wrong, she is wrong. . . You are 



GlOCONDA 97 

wrong! He loves you no longer, he loves you no 
longer; perhaps he has never loved you. His 
was not love but a poisoning, but sharp slavery, mad- 
ness, and thirst. When he suffered on his pillow, 
remembrance passed through his eyes from time to 
time like a flash of terror. Weeping at my feet, he 
has blessed the blood that was poured out for his 
ransom. He does not love you, he does not love 
you! 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

Your love cries out like a drowning man. 

Silvia Settala. 

He does not love you ! You have been a gad-fly 
to him, you have made him frantic, you have driven 
him to his death. 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

Not I, not I, have driven him to his death, but 

you yourself. Yes, he wished to die, that he might 

cast off a fetter, but not that which bound him to me : 

another, yours, that which was set upon him by your 

virtue or your rule, and which made him suffer 

intolerably. 

Silvia Settala. 

Ah, there is nothing that you dare not travesty ! 



98 GIOCONDA 

From him, from his own mouth, in an hour when his 
whole soul had risen up into the light, from him I 
heard it : " If violence is enough to break a yoke, let 
it be blessed ! " From him I heard it, when all his 
soul opened again to the truth. 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

But here, a few hours before he gave way to the 
horrible thought, here (all these things are witnesses 
to it) he said to me the most ardent and the sweetest 
words of all his love ; here he once more called me 
life of his life, here he told me once more his dream 
of forgetfulness, of liberty, of art, of joy. And here 
he told me of the insupportableness of his yoke, the 
inevitable weight of goodness, more cruel than any 
other, and the horror of daily suffering, the repug- 
nance at returning to the house of silence and tears, 
the repugnance at length become unconquerable. 

Silvia Settala. 
No, no. You lie. 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

To escape that anguish, one evening when all 
seemed to him sadder and more silent than ever, 
he sought death. 



GIOCONDA 99 

Silvia Settala. 
You lie, you lie ! I was far away. 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

And you accuse me of having inflicted au infamous 
torment upon him, of having been his torturer ! Ah, 
your hands, above all, your hands of goodness and 
pardon, prepared for him every night a bed of thorn, 
on which he could not lie down. But, when he 
entered here where I awaited him as one awaits 
the creating God, he was transformed. Before his 
work he recovered strength, joy, faith. Yes, a con- 
tinual fever burned in his blood, kept alight by me 
(and this is all my pride); but the fire of that fever 
has fashioned a masterpiece; 

[Points towards her statue, hidden by the curtain. 

Silvia Settala. 
It is not the first ; it will not be the last. 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

Truly, it will not be the last ; because another is 
ready to leap forth from its covering of clay, another 
has palpitated already under the life-giving thumb, 
another is half-alive, and waits from moment to 

LofC. 



ioo GIOCONDA 

moment for the miracle of art to draw it wholly forth 
to the light. Ah, you cannot understand this im- 
patience of matter to which the gift of perfect life 
has been promised ! 

[Silvia Settala turns towards the curtain, takes 
a few steps, slowly, as if involuntarily, as if 
in obedience to a mysterious attraction. 
It is there; the clay is there. That first breath 
that he infused into it, I have kept alive from day to 
day, as one waters the furrow where the seed lies 
deep. I have not let it perish. The impress is 
there, intact. The last touch, which his feverish 
hand set upon it at the last hour, is visible there, 
energetic and fresh as yesterday, so powerful that 
my hope in the midst of all the agony of sorrow 
is set there with a seal of life, and takes strength 
from it. 

[Silvia Settala pauses in front of the curtain, as 
before, and remains motionless and silent. 
Yes, it is true, you watched by the bedside of the 
dying man, intent upon a ceaseless strife to win him 
back from death ; and for this be envied, and for this 
be praised to all eternity. You had strife, agitation, 
effort : you had to accomplish a thing which seemed 
superhuman, and which intoxicated you. I, shut 
out, far off, in solitude, could only gather and bind up, 



GIOCONDA 101 

knitting my will together, my sorrow in a vow. My 
faith was equal to yours ; truly, it was leagued with 
yours against death. The last creative spark of his 
genius, of the divine fire that is in him, I have not 
let it go out, I have kept it alive, with a religious and 
uninterrupted vigilance. Ah, who can say to what 
height the preserving force of such a vow may 
attain? 

[Silvia Settala is about to turn violently, as if 
to reply, but restrains herself. 
I know, I know : it is simple and easy enough, what 
I have done ; I know : it is no heroic effort, it is the 
humble duty of a menial. But it is not the act that 
matters. What matters is the spirit in which the 
act is accomplished ; the fervour of it is all that 
matters. Nothing is more sacred than the work that 
begins to live. If the spirit in which I have watched 
over it can reveal itself to your soul, go and see ! 
That the work may go on living, my visible presence 
is needful. Realising this necessity, you will under- 
stand how in replying " Perhaps " to a question, I 
wished to respect a doubt which might be in you, 
but which was not in me, which is not in me. You 
cannot feel at home here as in your own house. This 
is not a house. Household affections have no place 
here; domestic virtues have no sanctuary here. 



102 GIOCONDA 

This is a place outside laws and beyond common 
rights. Here a sculptor makes his statues. He is 
alone here with the instruments of his art. Now I 
am nothing but an instrument of his art. Nature 
has sent me to him to bring him a message, and to 
serve him. I obey ; I await him to serve him still. 
If he entered now, he could take up the interrupted 
work which had begun to live under his fingers. Go 
and see ! 

[Silvta Settala stands before the curtain, ivith- 
out advancing. An increasing shiver shakes 
her whole body, betraying her inner agitation; 
ivhile the ivords of her rival become more and 
more sharp and stinging, definite, and at last 
hostile. Svddenly she turns, panting, im- 
petuous, resolved upon the last defence. 



Silvia Settala. 
No. It is useless. Your words are too clever. 
You are practised in all tongues. You transform 
into an act of love and faith what is only an act of 
policy or of treachery. The work that was interrupted 
should have perished. With the same hand that had 
impressed the sign of life upon the clay, with the 
same hand he grasped the weapon and turned it 



GIOCONDA 103 

against his heart. He did not doubt that he had set 
the deepest of gulfs between himself and his work. 
Death has passed there, and has severed every bond. 
What was interrupted should be lost. Now he is 
born again, he is a new man, he aspires towards 
other conquests. In his eyes there is a new light ; 
his strength is impatient to create other forms. All 
that is behind him, all that is on the other side of the 
shadow, has no longer any power or value. What 
does it matter to him that an old piece of clay should 
fall into dust ? He has forgotten it. He will find 
fresher pieces, into which to infuse the breath of 
his new birth, and to model into the image of the 
idea that now inflames him. Away with the old 
clay ! How could you profess to think that you were 
necessary to his art ? Nothing is necessary to the 
man who creates. All converges in him. You say 
that Nature sent you to him to bear him a message. 
Well, he has received it, he has understood it, and he 
has responded to it with a sublime expression. What 
other could he derive from you ? What other could 
you give him ? It is not given to man to attain twice 
the same summit, to accomplish twice the same 
prodigy. You are left there, on the other side of the 
shadow, far off, alone, on the old earth. He goes 
towards the new earth now, where he shall receive 



104 GI0C0NDA 

other messages. His strength seems virgin, and the 
beauty of the world is infinite. 

GlOCOXDA DlANTI. 

[Taken aback by the unexpected vigour which repels 
her, becoming more ao'id, more haughty than ever, and 
with an air of defiance. ,] I am living and am here ; and 
he has found in me more than one aspect, and the 
words still intoxicate me that he said when he spoke 
to me of his vision, different every morning when I 
come before him. Up to yesterday, certainly, he did 
not know that I was waiting for him ; and his uncon- 
sciousness has deceived you. But to-day he knows. 
Do you understand ? He knows that I am here, that 
I await him. This morning a letter told him, a letter 
which came into his hands, which he has read. And 
I am certain — do you understand ? — I am certain 
that he will come. Perhaps he is on the way, perhaps 
he is near the door. Shall we wait for him ? 

[An extraordinary change comes over the face of 
Silvia. It seems as if something strange and 
horrible enters into her. She is like one 
suddenly caught in the coils, writhing in 
the fascination of the serpent, blindly. The 
ancient fatality of deceit suddenly assails 
the soul of the pnire woman, conquers and 



GIOCONDA 105 

contaminates it. At the last words of the enemy 
she breaks into an unexpected laugh, bitter, 
atrocious, provocative, that renders her un- 
recognisable. Gioconda Diauti seems over- 
come by it. 

Silvia Settala. 

Enough, enough. Too many words. The game 
has lasted too long. Ah, your certainty, your pride! 
But how could you believe that I should have come 
here to contest the way with you, to forbid your 
entrance, to face your audacity, if I had not had a 
certainty far more sound than yours to warrant me ? 
I know your letter of yesterday, it was shown to me, 
I know not if with more astonishment or disgust, 

Gioconda Dianti. 
[Overcome.] No, it is not possible ! 

Silvia Settala. 

Yes, it is so. As for the answer, I bring it. Lucio 
Settala has lost the memory of what has been, and 
asks to be left in peace. He hopes that your pride 
will prevent you from becoming importunate. 



io6 GIOCONDA 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

[Beside herself. ,] He sends you? he himself ? It is 
his answer ? his ? 

Silvia Settala. 

His, his. I would have spared you this harshness 
if you had not forced me. Will you go now ? 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

[Her voice hoarse with rage and shame.'] I am turned 
out ? 

[Fury suffocates her, and gives her a frantic 
vigour. The vindictive and devastating wild 
beast seems to awaken in her. Through her 
flexible and powerful body passes the same 
force which contracts the homicidal muscles of 
feline animals in ambush. The veil, which 
she has kept on her face like a dark mask, 
renders more formidable the attitude of one 
ready to do injury in any way and toith any 
weapon. 
Turned out ? 

[Silvia Settala stands convulsed and livid 

':'. • before the furious woman, and it is not the 

spectacle of that fury which terrifies hert, bu 



GIOCONDA 107 

something vjhich she sees within herself, some- 
thing horrible and irreparable : her lie. 
Ah, you have brought him to this ! How ? how ? 
Binding the soul like the wound with cotton-wool? 
doctoring him with your soft hands ? He is un- 
made, finished, a useless rag. I understand ; now I 
understand. Poor thing ! poor thing ! Ah, why is 
he not dead, rather than the survivor of his soul ? 
He is finished, then, a poor beggar whom you lead by 
the hand in the empty streets. All is destroyed, 
all is lost. He will never lift his head again, his eye 
is darkened. 1 

Silvia Settala. 

[InterrujMng her.] Be silent, be silent ! He is liv- 
ing and strong ; never had he such light in himself. 
God be praised ! 

GlOCONDA DlANTI. 

[Frantically.] It is not true. I, I was his strength, 
his youth, his light. Tell him ! Tell him ! He has 
become old ; from to-day he is limp and soulless. I 
carry away with me (tell him !) all that was most free, 
ardent, and proud in him. The blood that he poured 
out there, under my statue, was the last b^ood of his 
youth. What you have re-infused into his heart is 



io8 GIOCONDA 

without flame, is weak, is vile. Tell him ! I carry- 
away with me to-day all that was his power and his 
pride and his joy and his all. He is finished. Tell 
him ! 

[Fury blinds and suffocates her. It is as if she 
is invaded by a turbid destructive will, as by 
a demon. All her being contracts in the 
necessity of accomplishing an immediate act 
of destruction. A sudden thought precipitates 
that instinct towards an aim. 
And that statue which is mine, which belongs to me 
which he has made out of the life that I have shed 
from me drop by drop, that statue which is mine. . . 
[She rushes like a wild beast towards the closed 
curtain, raises it and passes through. 
. . . well, I will shatter it, I will cast it down ! 

^Silvia Settal a utters a cry, and rushes forward 
to p'event the crime. Both disappear behind 
the curtain. The rapid breathing of a brief 
struggle is heard. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Crying oitt.] No, no, it is not true, it is not true ! 
I lied ! 

[The despairing words are covered by the sound of 
a mass that inclines and falls, the fracture of 



GIOCONDA 109 

the falling statue ; then follows another lacer- 
ating cry from Silvia, lorn by agony from 
her very vitals. 



SCENE IV. 

Erancesca Doni appears, mad with terror, running 
towards the cry, which she recognises ; while Gio- 
costda Dianti is seen between the curtains, still 
veiled, in the attitude of one who has committed a 
murder and seeks to escape. 

Francesca Doni. 

Assassin ! Assassin ! 

[She stoops to succour her sister, while the other 
rushes out. 
Silvia, Silvia, my sister, my sister ! What has she 
done to you, what has she done to you ? Ah, the 
hands, the hands. . . . 

[Her voice expresses the horror of one who sees 
something frightful, 

Silvia Settala. 
Take me away ! Take me away ! 



no CIOCONDA 

Fkaxcesca Doni. 

My God, my God ! They were underneath ! My 
God ! They are crushed ! Water ! water ! There is 
none here. Wait. 

Silvia Settala. 

Ah, what agony ! I cannot bear it : I am dying. 
Take me away ! 

[She appears beticeen the red curtains, her face 
inexpressibly contracted by agony, ivhile 
her sister bends to support her two hands 
wrapped in a piece of tcet cloth, taken from 
the clay, through which the blood oozes. 
What agony ! I cannot bear it any longer. 

[She is about to faint, when all at once Lucio 
Settala rushes into the room like a madman. 
She trembles, fixing on him her great eyes full 
of tears, in which her despairing soul dies. 
You, you, you ! 

Francesca Doni. 

[Still supporting the two poor crushed hands that 
drench the cloth in which the incurable wreck 
is hidden. 

Support her, support her ! She is falling. 

[Lucio Settala supports the poor bleeding creature, 



GIOCONDA in 

almost fainting, in his arms. But, before 
losing consciousness, she turns her glazing 
eyes towards the curtains as if to indicate the 
statue. 

Silvia Settala. 

[In -a dying voice.] It ... is safe. 



END OF THE THIRD ACT. 






THE FOURTH ACT 

A ground floor room, white and simple, with two side 
walls making an angle, almost entirely open to tJie 
light, which comes through a sort of large window, 
after the manner of a tepidarium. The blinds are 
raised, and through the window-panes can be seen 
oleanders, tamarinds, rushes, pines, golden sands 
dotted with dead seaioeed, the sea calm and dotted 
luith lateen sails, the peaceful mouth of the Arno, 
beyond the river the wild thickets of Gombo, the 
Cascine di San Rossore, the far off marble mountain 
of Carrara. 

A door, leading to the interim*, is on the third side. By 
the side of the door, on a bracket, is the Lady with 
the bunch of floicers, the famous figure of Andrea 
del Verrocchio, a new guest, come from the other 
house, like a faithful companion, whose beautiful 
hands are always flawless, as they make a graceful 



GIOCONDA 113 

gesture towards the heart. On the other side is an 
old spinet, of the time of Elisa Baciocchi, Duchess 
of Lucca, ivith its case of dull wood inlaid with 
bright wood, borne by little gilded Cariatides in 
the Empire style, with its four pedals united in the 
form of a small harp. 
It is an afternoon in September. The smile of 
vanishing summer seems to lay an enchantment 
over everything. In the deserted room the soul of 
music sleeping in the forgotten instrument makes 
itself felt, as if the hidden strings ivere touched by 
the calm rhythm of the neighbouring sea. 



SCENE I. 

Silvia Settala appears on the threshold, from the 
inner room ; she pauses ; takes several steps 
towards the window ; looks into the distance, looks 
about her with infinitely sad eyes. In her ivay of 
moving there is a sense of something wanting, 
calling up a vague image of clipped wings, a 
vague sentiment of strength humbled and shorn, 
of nobility brought low, of broken harmony. She is 
dressed in an ash-coloured, gown, with a hem of 

H 



n 4 GIOCONDA 

black, like a thread of mourning. Long sleeves 
hide her arms without hands, which she some- 
times lets drop by her side, and sometimes sets 
together, drawn a little back, as if to hide them 
in the folds, with a movement of shame and 
sorrow. 
From outside, between the thick oleanders, appears a 
girlish figure, La Sirenetta, half fairy and 
half beggar girl, peering in. She glides towards 
the window with a furtive step, holding up in one 
hand a fold of her apron filled ivith seaweed, 
shells, and star -fish. 

Stlvia Settala. 

[Catching sight of her, and going towards her' with a 
smile.] Oh, la Sirenetta ! Come, come. 

La Sirenetta. 

[Coming forward to the window.^ Do you remember 
me ? 

[She remains outside so that her face is seen 
through the shimmer of the glass, which seems 
to continue about her the incessant, tremulous 
radiance of the sea. She is young, slender, 
graceful ; her yellow hair is in disorder, her 



GIOCONDA 115 

face the colour of ruddy gold, Iter teeth 
white as the bones of the cuttle-fish, her eyes 
humid and sea-green, her neck long and thin, 
with a necklace of shells about it ; in her 
whole person something inexpressibly fresh 
and glancing, which makes one think of a 
creature impregnated with sea-s dt r dipped in 
the moving waters, coming out of the hiding- 
places of the rocks. Her petticoat of striped 
white and blue, torn and discoloured, falls 
only just below the knees, leaving her legs 
bare ; her bluish apron drips and smells of 
the brine like a filter ; her bare feet, in 
contrast with the brown colour that the sun 
has given her flesh, are- singularly pallid, like 
the roots of aquatic plants. And her voice is 
limpid and childish ; and some of the words 
that she speaks seem to light up her ingenuous 
face with a mysterious happiness. 
Do you remember me, pretty lady ? 

Silvia Settala. 
I remember you ; I remember yon. 

La Sirenetta. 
Do you remember me ? Who am I ? 



u6 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 
Are you not la Sirenetta ? 

La Sirexetta 
Yes, you have remembered me. "When did you 
come back ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Isot Ions: ago. 

La Sirexetta. 
You will stay ? 

Silvia Settala. 
A long time longer. 

La Sirenetta. 
Till the winter, perhaps. 

Silvia Settala. 
Perhaps. 

La Sirenetta. 

And your little girl ? 

Silvia Settala. 
I expect her to-day. She is coming. 

La Sirexetta. 
Beata ! Isn't she called Beata ? 



GIOCONDA: 117 

Silvia Settala. 
Yes Beata. 

La Sirenetta. 

You called her that, Beata, not Beatrice. When 
she was here, she asked me every day for star-fish, 
stars of the sea. Did she tell you ? She made mo 
sing. Did she tell you ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Yes, she told me. She remembers you She likes, 

you. 

La Sirenetta. 

She likes me ! I know. She gave me some of her 

bread every day. 

Silvia Settala. 

You shall have it every day, if you like. Bread 
and food, Sirenetta, morning and night, whenever 
you like. Bemember. 

La Sirenetta. 

Morning and night I will bring you a star-fish. 
Will you have one ? A pretty one, larger than a 
hand ? 

Silvia Settala, troubled, draivs back her arms 
with an instinctive movement. 



nS GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 
No, no, keep it for Baata. 

La Sirenetta. 

[Surprised.] Won't you have it ? 

Silvia Settala. 

Tell me instead what you do with your life, tell me 

how you spend the day. Is it true that you talk 

with the sirens of the sea ? Tell me all about it, 

Sirenetta. 

La Sirenetta. 

Seven sisters were we, 

Our mirror the fountain head, 

All of us fair to see. 

" Flower of the bulrush makes no bread, 

Hedgerow mulberry makes no wine, 

Blade of grass no linen fine," 

The mother to the sisters said ; 

All of us fair to see, 

And our mirror the fountain-head. 

The first was fain to spin, 

And wished for spindles of gold ; 

The second to weave threads in, 

And wished for shuttles of gold ; 

The third to sew at her leisure, 



GIOCONDA 119 

And wished for needles of gold ; 
The fourth to cook for her pleasure, 
And wished for platters of gold ; 
The fifth to sleep beyond measure, 
And wished for dreams of gold ; 
The sixth to sleep night away, 
And wished for coverings of gold ; 
The last to sing all day, 
To sing for evermore, 
And wished for nothing more. 
[She laughs with a quick glittering laugh that 
seems to tinkle against her shining teeth. 
Do you like this story ? 

Silvia Settala. 

[Charmed by the grace of the simple creature.] Is 
that all ? Why don't you go on ? 

La Sirenetta. 

If you sit here, I will put you to sleep as I put your 
child to sleep on the sands. Are you not sleepy now ? 
Sleep is good, in September. 

September bears to the plain 

The windy breath of the mountain rain, 

And puts the summer to sleep again. 

Amen. 



120 GIOCONDA 

Silvia Settala. 
No. Go on with your story, Sirenetta. 

La. Sirenetta. 

The olive darkens for shedding, 

Sorrow speeds the wedding, 

Oil and tears wait for the treading, 

Silvia Settala, 
Go on with your story, Sirenetta. 

La Sirexetta. 
Where had we got ? 

Silvia Settala. 
" And wished for nothing more ! " [A pause. 

La Sirenetta. 
Ah, here it is : 

" Flower of the bulrush makes no bread, 

Hedgerow mulberry makes no wine, 

Blade of grass no linen fine," 

The mother to the sisters said ; 

All of us fair to see, 

And our mirror the fountain-head. 



GIOCONDA I2E 

And so the first one spun 
Her own heart's woe for the morrow ; 
And so the second wove, 
And wove the cloth of sorrow ; 
And so the third one sewed 
A poisoned shirt to wear ; 
And so the fourth one cooked 
A dish of heart's despair ; 
And so the fifth one slept 
Under the coverings of death ; 
And so the sixth one dreamt 
In the arms of death. 
The mother wept full sore, 
And sighed away her breath ; 
But the last, that only sang 
To sing, to sing all day, 
To sing for evermore, 
Found her a happy fate. 
[She lowers her voice and makes it secret and 
remote. 
The sirens of the bay 
Called her to be their mate. [A pause. 

Silvia Setta la 
Then it is true that you talk with the sirens ? 



122 OIOCONDA 

La Sirexetta. 
[Putting her forefinger to Mr lips.] Mustn't ask ! 

Silvia Settala. 

Is it true that no one knows where you sleep at 

night ? 

La Sirexetta. 

[With the same gesture.] Mustn't ask ! 

Silvia Settala. 
Shall I give you shelter, here in the house ? 

La Sirexetta. 

[Looking intently in her face, as if she had not heard 
the question.] Your eyes are sad. I did not know 
what troubled me when I looked at them, Now I 
see : you have a great sorrow in your eyes. Some one 
of yours is dead, 

Silvia Settala. 

You alone can comfort me. 

La Sirexetta. 
Who of yours is dead ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Mustn't ask ! 



GIOCONDA 123 

La Sirexetta, 

Now I see you : you are not the same. I was 
thinking of a swallow, last September, who had lost 
his longest feathers, and was nearly drowned in the 
sea. What have they done to you ? Something wicked 
has been done to you. 

Silvia Sett a la. 
Mustn't ask ! 

[Instinctively she hides her arms without hands 
in the folds of her garment, with a sorrowful 
movement, ichich does not escape the notice of 
the bewitching creature ; ivho suddenly, as if 
intentionally, drops the- end of her apron, so 
that her little sea treasure falls and is scat- 
tered over the ground. 

La Sirexetta. 

[Stooping and choosing .] Will you have a star-fish, 
a pretty one, bigger than a hand ? Look ! 

[She shows the mutilated woman a large sea-star 
with five rays. 
Take it ! I give it to you. 

[The mutilated woman shakes her head in sign of 
refusal, pressing her lips together, as if to keep 
down the knot that tightens in her throat. 



124 GIOCONDA 

Can't you ? Are your hands sick, tied up ? 

[The mutilated woman nods her head. La 
Sirexetta's voice becomes tremulous with 
pity. 
Did you fall into the fire ? Were you burnt ? Do 
they still hurt ? Or are they getting better ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[In a scarcely audible voice.] I haven't any hands. 

La Sirexetta. 

[Rising in affright.'] You haven't any! They have 
cut them off? No hands? 

[The mutilated woman nods her head, frightfully 
pale. The other shivers with horror. 
No, no, no ! It isn't true. 

[She keeps her eyes fixed on the folds of the gar- 
ment in which the mutilated woman hides her 
arms. 
Tell me it isn't true. 

Silvia Settala. 
I haven't any hands. 

La Sirexetta. 
Why? why? 



GIOCONDA 125 

Silvia Settala. 
Mustn't ask! 

La Sirexetta. 

Ah, what a cruel thing ! 

Silvia Settala, 
I gave them away. 

La Sirexetta 
You gave them away ? To whom ? 

Silvia Settala. 

To my love. 

La Sirexetta. 

Ah, what a cruel love ! How beautiful they were, 
how beautiful ! Do you think I don't remember ? I 
have kissed them ; many many times. I have kissed 
them with this mouth. They gave me bread, a pome- 
granate, a cup of milk. They were as beautiful as 
if the dawn had made them with a breath, as white 
as the flower of the foam, more delicate than the 
embroidery that the wind makes on the sand ; the'y 
moved like the sun in the water, they talked better 
than the tongue or the eyes, they said kind words, 
what they gave turned to gold. I remember them ! 
I see them, I see them. One day they were playing 



126 GIOCONDA 

with the warm sand : the sand ran between the fingers 
as through a sieve, and they were pleased at playing ; 
and Beata looked at them and laughed ; and I looked 
at them and had the same pleasure. One day they 
peeled an orange ; and made it into many pieces, and 
touched me with one of them, and it was as sweet as 
a honeycomb. One day they wrapped a handkerchief 
about the little one's foot, and she was crying because 
a crab had nipped her, and the pain stopped all at 
once, and the little one began to run along the shore. 
One day they played with those lovely curls, and of 
every curl they made a ring for every finger, and 
then began over again, and then began over again; 
and Beata fell asleep with the dew on her lips. 

Silvia Settala. 

[In a choking voiee.] Don't say any more! don't 
say any more ! 

La SlRENETTA. 

Ah, what a cruel love ! 

[A pause. She remains pensive] 
And where are they ? Far away, all alone, in the 
earth, deep down. Did they bury them ? Where ? In 
a prett y garden ? 

\_A pause. The mutilated woman shuts her eyes 



GIOCONDA 127 

and leans her head against the window, in 

which the quiver of the sea is reflected. 
Did you see them taken away ? How white they 
were ! They have wrapped them up in strong oint- 
ment. And the rings ? With all the rings ? There 
was one with a green stone, and one with three pearls, 
and one of gold and iron twisted, and a smooth one, a 
shining hoop, and only that one was on the third 
finger. 

[A pause. An indefinable expression appears on 

the face of the mutilated woman, as she lets 

her arms drop by her sides, tchile the rigidity 

of her whole body slackens. 
What are you thinking about ? Dreaming of them ? 
If they should grow warm again. . . . 

[The mutilated woman opens her eyes and 

starts, as if suddenly awakened. Her arms 

quiver. 
What is the matter ? 



Silvia Settala. 

It is strange. Sometimes it really seems to me as 
if I have them again, I seem to feel the blood rise to 
the tips of my fingers. When you spoke, I had them : 
they were more beautiful, Sirenetta ! 



128 GIOCONDA 

La Sirenetta. 
More beautiful ? 

Silvia Settala. 
You will comfort me, Sirenetta. I cannot take 
your star-fish, but I can see your eyes and hear your 
voice. Keep near me, now I have found you again 
I would like to have you for a sister. 

La Sirenetta. 

I would like you to have my hands, if they were 
not so rough and dark. 

Silvia Settala. 

Your hands are happy hands : they touch the 
leaves, the flowers, the sand, the water, the stones, 
children, animals, all innocent things. You are happy, 
Sirenetta : your soul is born again every morning ; 
now it is little as a pearl, and now it is large as the 
sea. You have nothing and everything ; you know 
nothing and everything. 

La Sirenetta. 

[Turning suddenly and interrupting her.'] Did you 
feel the gust ? Look, look how many swallows on the 



GIOCONDA 129 

sea ! There are more than a thousand : a living 
cloud. Look how they shine ! Now they are ofi'; 
they are going on a long journey, to a far away land ; 
the shadow walks over the water Avith thern ; some 
feathers are falling : evening will come on ; they will 
meet the ships on the high sea ; they will seethe fires, 
hear the songs of the sailors ; the sailors will see them 
pass ; they will pass close to the sails ; one of them 
will strike against the sails, and fall on the deck, tired. 
One night, a cloud of tired swallows fell upon a ship 
like a flock of starlings on the deck and quite covered 
it. The sailors never touched them. They never 
moved, for fear of frightening them ; they never 
spoke, so that they might go to sleep. And as they 
were all over the stock of the anchor and the bar of 
the rudder, that night the ship went drifting under 
the moon. But at dawn . . . Ah, who is calling to 
you ? 

[She interrupts her dream, hearing a strange 
voice among the oleanders ; and prepares to 

fly. 

Good-bye, good-bye. 

Silvia Settala. 

[Anxiously] It is my sister. Do not run away, do 
not go, Sirenetta. Stay here near. Beata is coming. 

1 



3 o GIOCONDA 

La Sirenetta. 

Gooi-bye, good-bye. I will come back. 

[Runs towards the sea, vanishing into the sun- 
light. 



SCENE II. 

Francesca Doni appears between the oleanders, Jollowed 
by the old man, Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Francesca Doni. 
Do you see who I am bringing 3-011 ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[Anxiously.'] And Beata? And Beata? 

Francesca Doni. 

She is coming presently. I left her with Faustina. 
I came beforehand, so that she should not come to 
3*ou unexpectedly. 

Silvia Settala. 
Pear Maestro, how pleased I am to see you ! 
., [The old man instinctively stretches out his 



GIOCONDA 131 

hands towards her. She bends slightly and 
offers him her forehead, which he touches 
with his lips. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

[Concealing his emotion.'] How happy I am to see 
you again, clear Silvia, and to see you up and well 
again! The sea helps you. The sea is always the 
great comforter. At Forte dei Marmi, yonder, I 
thought much of you. 

Stlvia Sett ala. 
Is Forte dei Marmi far from here ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

[Pointing to the distant shore.] Yonder, under 
Serravizza, on this side of Massa. 

[They look out of the window into the distance. 

Francesca Doni. 

How well one can see the mountains of Carrara 
to-day ! You can count the peaks one by one. I 
never remember a clearer day than this. Who was 
with you, Silvia ? La Sirenetta ? I thought I saw 



132 GIOCONDA 

her running towards the sea. And then here are her 
traces : sea- weed, shells, star-fish. 

[She points to the childish treasures scattered over 
the ground. 

Silvia Settala. 
Yes, she was with me just now. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Who is la Sirenetta ? 

Francesca Doni. 
A little wandering mad creature. 

Silvia Settala. 

A seer, who has the gift of song ; a creature of 
dream and truth, who seems a spirit of the sea. You 
should know her and love her as I do. When you 
know her and hear her speak, you find out many 
deep things. Truly she will seem to you perfect : she 
always gives and never asks. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

She is like you in that. 

Silvia Settala. 

Alas, no. I should like to have been like her in 
that ; but tne light died away before the deceit of 



GIOCONDA 133 

life. What blindness ! I asked so much, that to 

obtain it, I stooped to tell a lie : I came out 

mutilated, maimed, in punishment for my lie. I 

had stretched out my hands too violently towards 

a good thing that fate denied me. I do not 

lament or weep. Since I must live, I will live. 

Perhaps one day my soul will be healed. I felt some 

hope arise in me, as I listened to the voice of that 

simple and guileless creature who can teach eternal 

things. She has promised to bring me a star-fish 

every morning. 

[She tries to smile. The sister stands near the 

window and seems to be looking intently at 

the distant mountains ; but there is a shadow 

of sadness over her gentle face. 

Look, Maestro, at the lady with the bunch of flowers. 

She has come with me. Now, if I look at her, there 

is something mournful in her for me : all the same 

I could not separate myself from her. Do you 

remember, Maestro, that day in April, that garlanded 

head? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

I remember, I remember. 

Silvia Settala. 
The new life ! 



134 GIOCONDA 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
There was an omen in everything. 

Silvia Settala. 

When I see the camels pass loaded with faggots, 
there, on the other side of the Arno, in the thickets 
of Gombo, I think of the arrival of Cosimo Dalbo, of 
the joy of that evening, of the scarabaeus that I pnt in 
the midst of a bunch of roses that Beata had picked. 
[Turns towards her sister.] Francesca, I speak, and 
all the while my heart troubles me so that I can 
resist no longer. Where is Beata ? 

Fbaxcesca Doni. 

[Wrung with pain.] You want to see her now? 
You are strong ? 

Silvia Settala. 

Yes, yes, I am strong, I am ready. Suspense is 
worse. 

Feancesca Doxi. 

Then I will go and briug her to you. 

Silvia Settala. 
Unable to contain her anxiety.'] Wait a minute. 



GIOCONDA 135 

Will you not stay with us here to-night, Maestro ? 
I should be glad. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
Well, yes, I will stay. 

Silvia Settala. 

We can put you up. I will have your room got 
ready. Wait, Francesca, a minute. , 

[She is convulsed with emotion, ivhich she can no 
longer restrain. She goes towards the door 
like one who runs aivay to hide the tears that 
are about to break forth. 

Francesca Doni. 
Shall I come, Silvia ? 

Silvia Settala. 
[With a choking voice.] No, no. [Goes out. 

Francesca Doni. 

Ah, the curse, the curse ! Do you see her ? While 
she was in bed, under the bedclothes, bound up, 
bleeding, all the horror of the thing did not appear. 
But now that she is on her feet again, now that she 
moves, walks, sees her friends, returns to her old ways, 



i 3 6 • • GIOCONDA 

is about to use the gestures that she used to use ! 
Think of it ! 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

Yes, it is too frightful a fate. I remember what 
you said to her so tenderly, as you looked at her, on 
that day in April : " You seem as if you had wings ! " 
The beauty and lightness of her hands gave her the 
aspect of a winged thing. There was in her a kind of 
incessant quiver. Now it is as if she dragged her- 
self along. 

Francesca Doni. 

And it was a useless sacrifice, like all the others ; it 
has done nothing, changed nothing : that is where it 
is so frightful a fate. If Lucio had stayed with her, 
I believe she would have been happy to have been 
able to give that last proof, to have been able to 
sacrifice for him her living hands. But she knows 
now all the truth, in all its nakedness. Ah, what an 
infamous thing ! Would you have believed that 
Lucio was capable of it ? Tell me. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

He too has his fate, and he obeys it. As he was 
not master of his death, so he is not master of his life. 
I saw him yesterday. He had written me at Forte 



GIOCONDA 137 

dei Marmi to ask me to go to the quarry and send him 
a block. I saw him yesterday in his studio. His 
face is so thin that it seems burnt up in the fire of 
his eyes. When he speaks, he becomes strangely 
excited. It troubled me. He works, works, works, 
with a terrible fury : perhaps he is seeking to rid 
himself of a thought that gnaws him. 

Francesca Doni. 
The statue is still there ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

It is still there, without arms. He has left it so : 
he would not restore it. So, on the pedestal, it looks 
really like an ancient marble, dug up in one of the 
Cyclades. There is in it something sacred and tragic, 
after the divine immolation. 

FrAncesca Doni. 

\In a low voice.] And that Woman, the Gioconda, 
was there ? 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 

She was there, silent. When one looks at her, 
and thinks that she is the cause of so much evil, 
truly one cannot curse her in his heart ; no, one 



138 GIOCONDA 

cannot, when one looks at her, I have never seen 
so great a mystery in mortal flesh. 

[A pause. The old man and the sister remain 
in thought, far some instants, with boused 

heads. 

Francesca Doxi. 

[Sighing because of the anguish that ojjpresses her.~\ 
My God, my God ! And now it is time to bring 
Eeata to her mother, and they will see one another 
again, after all that has happened ; and the little one 
will learn the truth, will know the horrible thing. 
How is one to hide it, from her, remembering all her 
caresses, and mad for them ! You saw her, you 
heard her, of old. . . . 

[Silvia Settala reappears on the threshold. Her 
eyes are burning and all her body is con- 
tracted by a spasmodic force. 

Silvia Settala. 
I am here. Francesca ; I am ready. The room is 
ready, Maestro, if you would like to go to it. 

Lorenzo Gaddi. 
[Going towards her, and in a voice trembling v'ith 
emotion?. Courage ! It is the last ordeal. 



GIOCONDA 139 

[Tie goes out by the door. The mutilated woman 
goes towards her sister, breathlessly. 

Silvia Settala. 

Now go, go ! Bring her. I will wait here. 

[The sister puts her arms round her neck and 
hisses her in silence. Then she goes out 
towards the sea, and disappears rapidly 
among the oleanders. 



SCENE III. 

Silvia Settala, breathlessly, looks through the midst 
of the boughs lighted by the oblique rays of the 
sun. The hour is exquisitely peaceful. The light 
is more limpid than the windoivs of the white 
room ; the sea is tranquil as the flower of the fax, 
so motionless that the long reflections of the mir- 
rored sails seem to touch the bottom; the stream 
seems to create that immense repose, pouring out 
the perennial wave of its peace ; the health-giving 
woods, penetrated with fluid gold, rejoice marvel- 
lously, almost as if they lost their roots that they 
might swim in the delight of their odour; the 
marble Alps in the distance trace a line of beauty 



140 GI0C0NDA 

on the shy, in ivhich they seem to reveal the dream 
arising out of their imprisoned populace of sleep- 
ing statues. 
La Sirenetta re-appears in the silence, through 
which her pure voice is heard,. 

La Sirenetta 
Are you alone ? 

Silvia Settala. 

[Agitated.'] Yes. I am waiting. 

La Sirenetta 

[Coming close to her.] Have you been crying ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Yes, a little. 

La Sirenetta. 

[With infinite pity] You seem as if you had been 
crying for a year. Your eyes are burning Your 
heart hurts you too much. 

Silvia Settala. 
Don't speak. I cannot crush my heart. 

[She jiresses Iierself against the trunk of the 
nearest oleander, convulsed, no longer able to 
endure the agony of waiting 
She is coming now, she is coming now. 

[She moves away from the tree and re-enters the 



GIOCONDA 141 

room, as if seized with terror, like one seeking 
refuge. 

The Voice of Beata. 

[From among the oleanders.'] Mamma ! Mamma ! 
[The mother starts, and turns, frightfully pallid. 
Mamma ! 

[The child rushes towards her mother with a cry 
of joy, her face lit up, heated, her hair in dis- 
order, panting after a long run, carrying an 
untidy bunch of flowers. As she runs in, the 
bunch falls. The mutilated woman stoops 
towards the little arms that clasp her neck, and 
offers her death-like face to the furious kisses. 
Silvia Settala. 

Beata ! Beata ! 

Beata. 

[Panting.] Ah, how I have run, how T have run ! 
I ran away from them, all alone. I ran, I ran. They 
didn't want to let me come. Ah, but I ran away from 
them, with my bunch of flowers. 

[Covers her mother's face with fresh kisses. 

Silvia Settala. 

You are all damp with sweat, you are hot, burn- 
ing. . . My God ! 



142 GIOCONDA 

[In her rush of tenderness she instinctively makes 
a movement as if to wipe the child's face ; but 
stops and hides her arms in the folds of her 
garments ; and a shiver of visible horror runs 
through her. 

Beata. 

Why don't you take me up ? Why don't you put 

your arms round me ? Take me up, take me up, 

mamma ! 

[She rises on tiptoe, to be caught into Iter mother s 

embrace. The mother takes a step backivards, 

blindly. 

Silvia Settala. 
Beata ! 

. Beata. 

[Following her.] Don't you want me ? don't you 

want me ? 

Silvia Settala. 
Beata ! 

[She tries to feign a smile with her ashen lips, 
distorted by unspeakable sorrow. 

Beata. 

Is it for fun ? What are you hiding ? 0, give, 
give me what you are hiding ! 

Silvia Settala. 
Beata ! Beata ! 



GIOCONDA 143 

Beata. 

I have brought you flowers, such a lot of flowers. 
Do you see ? do you see ? 

[As she turns to pick up the fallen bunch, she 
perceives her little wild friend, and remembers 
her. 
Oh, Sirenetta ! Are you there ? 

[La Sirenetta is there, before the window, stand- 
ing, a silent ivitness, with her eyes fixed on the 
sorrowful mother. As the repeated breath of 
the wind passes between the fronds of an 
arbutus and makes it tremble, so the sorrow of 
the mother seems to invest and penetrate that 
slender body ivhich the oblique rays of the 
sun ring with bands of gold. 
Do you see what a lot ? All for you ! 

[The child picks up the bunch. 
Take it ! 

[She runs towards her mother again, who steps 
back. 

Silvia Settala. 
Beata ! Beata ! 

Beata 

[Astonished.] Don't you want them ? Take them ! 
Take them ! 



<^"C 



144 GIOCGNDA 

Silvia Settala 
Beata ! 

[She falls on her knees, overcome with sorrow, as 
if stricken by an unendurable blow, falls on 
Iter knees before her frightened child ; and a 
flood of tears, that bursts from her eyes like 
blood from a wound, bathes her face. 

Beata. 

You are crying ? You are crying ? 

[Frightened she throws herself upon her mother's 
breast, with all her flowers. La Sirenetta, 
who has also fallen on her knees, lays her 
forehead, and the palms of her hands upon the 
ground. 



THE END. 



Printed by BALLANTYNK, Hanson &* Co. 
Edinburgh «S~ London 



lEMr?9 



